


what it means to us

by djhedy



Series: what if we kissed... and we met on tinder [5]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexuality Spectrum, Cept not really, Communication, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Dating, Demisexuality, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Napping, POV Andrew Minyard, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Sort Of, Texting, That's my brand, Trauma, all that good shit, angsty, but it gets better, if matt and kevin count as dads, soft but serious, they're in a relationship now so, tinder au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24113323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djhedy/pseuds/djhedy
Summary: you coming over today?Andrew pauses the game and picks up his phone. To his right he sees Aaron put his controller down and leave.He hovers his fingers over the screen, and then decides, and then typesnoI rather think I’ve had enough of you-in which andrew and neil work out how to be in a relationship despite having no communication skills tbh
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: what if we kissed... and we met on tinder [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629568
Comments: 97
Kudos: 804





	what it means to us

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO. right, so, firstly, this can be read without having read the rest of the tinder series, i think - i mean, it will be more satisfying if you've read the whole thing, obviously, but i think it would work without it if you're happy to acknowledge the premise that andrew & neil met over tinder and now they're SORTING THEIR SHIT OUT  
> this is cute, and fluffy, with a healthy dose of angst  
> M-rating is for implicit sexy times, and mentions of self-harm and sexual abuse. but neither of these is gone into any detail.  
> omg ok i'll shut up i hope you enjoy it this is the longest one-shot i've ever posted. wild xxx

_you coming over today?_

Andrew pauses the game and picks up his phone. To his right he sees Aaron put his controller down and leave.

He hovers his fingers over the screen, and then decides, and then types

**_no  
I rather think I’ve had enough of you_ **

Aaron calls, “Do you or your girlfriend want a drink?”

Andrew turns his phone round in his hand and tips his head back. “Coffee. Asshole.”

He hears a cupboard opening, and the sound of running water, and then, “Hey, your two favourite things.”

“Original.”

Andrew’s phone buzzes again and he looks.

_:(_

And then

_not what you said last night :) :) :)_

And then

_what are you up to?_

Aaron appears with two coffees and Andrew takes one, and types

**_Aaron’s here_ **

and puts his phone down. Aaron gives it a look, sips his coffee then picks up the controller and restarts the game without waiting for Andrew to be ready. In retaliation Andrew leaves his controller on the sofa and holds his coffee in both hands, phone face down and buzzing, closes his eyes and breathes in steam.

Aaron says, “You going to Neil’s?”

Andrew shrugs and opens his eyes to see his character get shot in the chest. “Maybe later.”

“I am surprised.” Aaron shoots three guys in the head, ducks behind a crate, frowning in concentration as he aims a sniper shot, and says, “This is my surprised face.”

“I have not mentioned him at all,” Andrew says, putting his mug down and picking up his controller again, clicking the option for resurrection. “If you have a problem we don’t have to talk about it.”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Ok.”

They play in silence for a bit then, and Andrew leaves his desire to look at his phone unchecked, knowing Neil is probably still talking to him, knowing that Neil will know that Andrew has Aaron round. Knowing that complicates it slightly.

When the coffee is gone, and they’ve beaten three levels, and Andrew finally gives in and moves his hand to flip his phone over Aaron says, “I just think it’s weird.”

Andrew pauses, leaves his phone and returns his hand to his controller. Oh. So they’re about to have a _conversation_. He sighs and sinks further into the sofa, focusing on the screen and not looking over at his brother, a foot away. He finds a med kit. Turns over his words. “Just think what’s weird, Aaron?”

Aaron can hear false formality in his voice, Andrew knows; they have the same tone of voice when they’re feeling pissed off. Aaron visibly rolls his eyes in Andrew’s peripheral vision and says, “Fuck off. I’m trying to explain.”

“Ok.”

Andrew waits.

Aaron says, “You’ve never done this before.”

“Done what.”

“The boyfriend thing.”

_The boyfriend thing._

He lets the words bounce around his head for a while. But.

So Andrew has a therapist. He kind of likes her. He is 22 years old. Has a brother he’s known for nearly 7 years. A cousin he’s known for 6. His biological mother has been dead for 5. His brother is only on the same sofa as him right now because of their therapist. Who they stopped seeing a year ago.

Sometimes it helps to list facts about his life like bullet points. Like points in a circle.

He has: a degree in criminology, almost. A cat who looks stunning in his purple baseball cap. His own apartment, because his therapist had said _some things are worth the money_ and when he’d mocked _loneliness_ she had replied _control_. A friend called Kevin who won’t stop calling him. A few people at college he studies with on Monday afternoons. A plant he can barely keep alive.

A Neil.

He has all of this. And having all of it is almost enough to give him the strength to say: _so?_

But what he says instead is, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Aaron turns to look at him, but Andrew doesn’t move his gaze from where he’s shooting the head off some guy. _Nice._ Aaron says, “He isn’t?”

“Nope.”

“Huh. So what do you call it then? There some gay word for it I don’t know?” Andrew doesn’t dignify this with a response, so Aaron adds, “You know, for when you’ve been dating someone for two months, you see him almost every day, you’ve met all his friends –” Aaron pauses and Andrew looks over. He’s scrunching up his nose. “For fuck’s sake Andrew you have sex like every night of the week.”

Andrew tilts his head. “How would you know?”

“You’re always sleeping over there. Or when we come round for dinner he stays after, I know he does.”

Andrew feels his fingers clench around his controller. He’s not sure what the point of this is. Feels his phone vibrate against his leg. Thinks he’d like to message Neil now. He looks back at the screen and says, “We don’t, actually.”

There’s a moment’s silence, in which Andrew wills his fingers to loosen, and then Aaron says, “Oh. Wait. _What?”_

Andrew pauses the game. “I’m going for a cigarette.” He stands, taking his phone with him.

His bedroom has a crappy balcony, one with barely foot room to stand, but he opens the door out to it, lights up, leans his arms on the rail, and checks his phone.

_oh Aaron’s there, suddenly your brother is more important than me  
I get it  
that’s ok I’ll just hang out with my  
oh wait I have no family  
:)  
haha  
I’m funny  
ok fine you’re busy I get it  
come round later then? when he goes? what you two doing tonight?  
fine ignore me  
asshole  
:)_

Andrew drags in, breathes out. Repeats the process a few times while he rereads the messages from Neil. He appears online and before Andrew can react he has a new message

_lurker_

**_I’m not lurking. And we’re playing video games. I’m just having a cigarette break_ **

_you mean a Neil break_

**_that does seem to be a side effect, yes_ **

_great  
so come round later_

**_might be late_ **

_that’s ok_

**_interesting_ **

_what?_

Andrew wants to make a joke about booty calls but – he doesn’t want things to be weird again. He tries to work out a way he can make the same joke but make it about the way Neil snuggles into him before they’re about to drift off but –

**_nothing_ **

And then his phone starts ringing. He stares at it for a second, takes a final drag on his cigarette and stubs it out, throws it into the plant pot, answering Neil with a, “Stalker.”

“How is phoning you stalking?”

“What do you want.”

“Why are you being weird?”

Andrew turns to make sure he’d shut his bedroom door. “I’m not being weird.”

Neil sighs down the phone. “Fine. Are you coming over or not?”

He sounds annoyed and Andrew frowns. “I don’t know, it depends when Aaron leaves.”

“Ok.”

They’re quiet for a minute, and then Andrew says, “Wait there,” and hangs up.

He types

**_Neil, you are exhausting. I was just going to make a joke about booty calls. Because you are inviting me round at midnight. That’s usually what that means for other people. I couldn’t think of a version of that joke for us. I’m not being weird I was just thinking. I hate everything about you, including the fact that you are basically inviting me round for an 8 hour cuddle. Disgusting. See you soon._ **

And then he shoves his phone in his pocket and heads back into the living room.

He has a look on his face, maybe, because Aaron takes one look at him and doesn’t bring it up again. The sex thing. Instead he sighs, and says, “One more level? I have to go anyway. Early start. But don’t even think of bailing on Friday, Andrew. You promised Nicky.”

Andrew sits down, checks his phone one more time.

_haha  
Andrew  
ok :)  
haha  
I win?  
see you soon _

Andrew picks up his controller and shrugs, “Ok,” already thinking of a warm body.

Allison opens the door, silk pyjamas on and a glass of wine in one hand. “Mystery man,” she says, holding the door open wider. Andrew steps in and closes it behind him. “Bit late isn’t it?”

“Sorry mom,” Andrew says, looking round the room for a sign of Neil. Renee is sat on the sofa, fingers clenched around a mug of something hot, pyjamas on, and a paused movie on the screen. Neil isn’t here. Andrew considers just leaving again.

“He’s in the bathroom,” Allison says with a smirk, moving back to the sofa. She doesn’t offer Andrew a drink, or to wait with them, so he just stands by the door, already wishing he had stayed home. He can hear the sound of a shower running. Looks at his phone. No messages.

“How are you Andrew?” asks Renee, smiling over the back of the sofa at him.

“You know,” says Andrew, moving tentatively forward until he’s perching on the arm of a chair. “Good. You?”

“Great thanks.” Renee turns at his movement and is grinning at a look on Allison’s face that Andrew can’t decipher.

Andrew suspects he’s meant to be making conversation. What he’s got to go through for a cuddle. He glances at the still image on the tv screen. “What have I interrupted?” he asks, knowing he sounds like he doesn’t really care, but, he doesn’t. So.

“We’re having a gay marathon,” says Allison, smirk fully loaded, tucking her long legs underneath her.

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you always.”

Renee laughs at that, and Andrew looks at the bathroom door. The shower’s cut off. “We’ve started a new tradition, showing Neil our favourite queer films.”

Andrew looks back and narrows his eyes at her. “Don’t you corrupt him,” he says in what he realises too late is a stern tone.

Allison is looking at him. “Interesting,” she says, raising her glass to her lips.

Andrew sighs. “What movie.”

“ _Pride_ ,” Renee says.

Andrew looks back at the screen, recognises pride flags waving, recognises the scene at the end where the miners go to pride. “Huh,” Andrew says. “He really is a baby queer.”

“I’m a what?” Andrew looks up and Neil is stood at the bathroom door, rubbing a towel through his hair, blue checked pyjamas on and a faded black MCR tshirt that definitely doesn’t belong to him. He’s got a smudgy tired expression on his face that shoots something uncomfortable through Andrew. Andrew frowns and reaches a hand out to him. Neil grins, drops the towel to the floor – _eurgh_ – and wanders over, settling between Andrew’s parted legs and putting an arm round his shoulder.

Andrew settles his hands at his hips and looks up at him. “You really haven’t seen this movie before?”

Neil shrugs. “I have now.”

“Baby,” Andrew mutters, turning his head so he can kiss the skin below the sleeve of _his_ tshirt.

“Hedgehog,” Allison says, reaching for the controller.

“There’s five minutes left,” says Renee, pulling the blanket back up.

“We can go,” Neil says quietly, rubbing his fingers lightly across the back of Andrew’s neck.

Andrew shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear? There’s five minutes left.” He scoots backward, landing in the soft chair, legs up over the arm, loosening his hold on Neil but making his intentions clear. Neil makes his way round and settles himself in Andrew’s lap, and Andrew settles against Neil’s shoulder, and Neil settles an arm round Andrew, and they watch the last five minutes of _Pride_ , and there’s a lot of flag waving, and a lot of thinking about how Neil has never known about any of this, has only known he could want someone like Andrew for a month – _six weeks,_ Andrew’s brain supplies – that Andrew has known for much longer, but in some way feels just as unsure, didn’t really know it could be like this –

Neil shifts in Andrew’s lap and Andrew.

Well. Ignores it.

The credits start, and Allison and Renee are asking what Neil thought of the movie. Andrew doesn’t listen. Just wants to bury his face in Neil’s shoulder. So he does a little. Rubs his forehead against him. Stops when he senses he’s being watched. He looks up at Neil and rests his chin on Neil’s shoulder. Neil smiles fondly at him and says, “You’re like a cat.”

Andrew tightens his arms around Neil’s waist. “No I’m not.”

“Like an angry murder cat,” Allison mutters, and Renee laughs, kisses Allison on the cheek. Allison rubs a hand over Renee’s thigh and Andrew looks away, feels uncomfortable. Wonders if Neil feels uncomfortable. Frowns at himself.

“Bed?” Neil asks, bringing his attention back up.

Andrew nods. “Shower,” he says, kissing Neil gently, letting him sigh a little into his mouth, before standing up and unceremoniously dropping him. Neil scowls at him from the floor and Allison laughs, gleeful, and Neil mutters at her, and Andrew grabs his bag from by the front door and heads to the bathroom, picking up Neil’s towel on the way so he can dump it in the laundry basket.

Andrew is aware how embarrassing he’s being. He knows. Thinks he’d give himself hell for it if he were his friend. He brushes his teeth. Drops his clothes. Gets in the shower. Thinks, _Six weeks._ Scrubs a hand through his hair. _Six weeks and no sex._

Thinks about Neil in his lap. How soft and hard his body is. They sit like that a lot, usually when Neil’s friends are all there and seating is limited. Neil is a little taller than Andrew anyway –not by much, and Neil has told him he doesn’t care, that he kind of likes that Andrew is broader instead, had asked him how often he went to the gym, had blushed when Andrew had replied _a lot_ – and in his lap he’s raised a few inches more, and Andrew gets to look up at him. And just look up. And run his hands over his arms when no one’s looking, and play at the hems of his clothes. And sometimes Neil gets excited, or forgets what it’s like to be Andrew, and will shift in his lap, or make over the top hand gestures when he’s arguing with Matt about exy, and will fidget, and Andrew will just look at the ceiling and count to 100.

He thinks about it now, in someone else’s shower, and frowns. Hates it a little. But this isn’t just someone else’s shower. This is Neil’s shower. Neil stands here, directs hot water down his skin, maybe presses a flat palm against tile – _here_ – runs soap over his body.

Andrew sighs. Lets his hand drift downward. Wrap around himself. Pictures Neil’s hard fingers instead, his scarred wrists, his knuckles.

Thinks of Neil squirming, unknowingly, against him.

_Fuck._

Neil’s already in bed when Andrew arrives, looking at his phone. He’s frowning, turning a piece of hair round and round in his fingers.

Andrew shuts the door and turns the light off. Drops his bag. “Bored?” he says, making his way into Neil’s bed. “What did you do before me.”

Neil smiles at him, but it’s brief, fleeting. He drops his phone to his chest. “Not bored,” he says. “Curious.”

Andrew had been reaching out for him, but he stops. Hesitates. Leans up a little against the pillows. “About what?”

“Kevin messaged me.”

Andrew has given them each other’s numbers, like he said he would. So they could talk without having to use tinder. Andrew and Neil had progressed to whatsapp months ago, almost straight away, and Neil had complained to Andrew _he’s in your life, why can’t he be in mine?_ So Andrew had entered Kevin’s number in Neil’s phone, deleted the tinder app, and chucked it back at him. Neil gave him a look when he realised. It wasn’t possessive. Just practical. Andrew had kissed him until Neil huffed against his mouth, until he could feel his mouth curling into a smile

Andrew has no idea what they even want to talk about. Exy, probably. Him, maybe. The thought makes his blood boil, but he’s powerless in the face of the two of them. “Ok,” he says, slowly. Neil isn’t looking at him. He sits up a little more. “And?”

Neil is still turning the phone over and over, letting it land on his chest each time. He looks at Andrew. “Is it your birthday on Friday?”

_Oh. Shit._

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Neil looks away, hand stilling and a familiar hurt spreading across his face, and Andrew feels something panicky in his chest, and fidgets with the blankets. He hates that this look is familiar. Spends a second wondering whose fault that is. But there’s no time right now. He always feels like he’s two seconds away from ruining this.

Andrew reaches a hand out for Neil’s. Neil lets him take it, but won’t look him in the eye. “It is my birthday on Friday, this Friday,” Andrew says, liking to start any conversation like this with as little ambiguity as possible.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Neil says to the blanket.

Andrew doesn’t really know, is the problem.

They started talking in August, and it’s the beginning of November now. So, he has had a few months’ preparation for this. He has no excuse. He shuffles against Neil so that their shoulders are touching at least. Their thighs. Looks at Neil for signs that’s ok. “It isn’t a big deal,” he tries.

Neil glares at him. “Asshole,” he says, and Andrew’s a little taken aback by the lack of warmth in what he usually somewhat embarrassingly regards as an endearment. Neil pushes Andrew’s hand away. “If it isn’t a big deal, why does Kevin know?”

“Nicky invited him.”

With every word Andrew can tell he’s making it worse. Neil clenches his jaw. “To what?”

“It isn’t a big deal,” Andrew says again. He feels unreasonably irritated by Neil’s behaviour so he raises an eyebrow and drawls, “I don’t know what your problem is.”

Neil just looks at him. Blank. “Right.”

Andrew feels instantly regretful. “I mean –”

“No, sure, Andrew,” Neil says, all cold and sarcastic. “I’m being the drama queen here, is that it? I guess we’ve only been – _whatever_ , as you like to call it – for over a month now. But I get it. I can understand how Kevin had a bigger impact on your life.”

Neil shifts away, and then leaves the bed entirely. Leaves the room, and shuts the door behind him. Like he couldn’t bear to be in the conversation anymore, to be with Andrew anymore.

Andrew frowns at the door. Just sits with his heart pounding against his chest for a minute before he thinks _fuck this_ and gets up.

Unfortunately Allison and Renee are still up, leaning against each other, something different playing softly on the tv. Neil is in the kitchen, so Andrew pads quietly there, watches him fill a glass of water and down it.

Andrew walks halfway into the kitchen and says, quietly, “Neil. Come back.”

Neil doesn’t reply. Andrew looks back to check the tv is still on, and approaches Neil slowly. He tentatively touches his hands to his waist. Neil tenses a little, but he doesn’t push away, doesn’t tell Andrew to leave. Andrew keeps a half foot back when he whispers, “Look. I’m an asshole. But you’re an idiot.”

Neil turns to look at him, and Andrew’s hands drop. “Don’t tell me I’m an idiot,” he says. He doesn’t bother to keep his voice low, and Andrew hears murmurs from the living room. Great.

“Ok,” says Andrew, matching his volume. He lifts his hands again and touches lightly at Neil’s hips. Wants to gather him in. Has to work out how to make this ok. “Just the first bit then.”

Neil just looks at him, leans back against the counter. Says, a bit quieter, “Yeah.”

Andrew moves cautiously against Neil until his hands can wrap round his lower back, until he’s speaking into his neck. Neil’s arms are still crossed. Andrew would hold any version of him. “ _Nicky_ told Kevin,” he whispers, figuring he’d start by stating facts. “I don’t care. We only do it for Nicky. I didn’t want to tell you. I don’t want to do anything. And Kevin – you know the only thing Kevin’s had a big impact on is the sock on his nightstand.”

He can feel the moment he’s won, the moment Neil relaxes into him, the moment he smiles into his cheek. Andrew closes his eyes, sighs, and says, “Moron.”

“Hey,” Neil chastises, pulling away. “I’m not a moron. You’re an asshole, remember?”

But he’s smiling now, tentative, and shy, but it’s there. Andrew rubs his hands over his waist. Wants to kiss him. Presses his lips softly against his. Whispers into them, “Sorry.”

Neil sighs into him. “I guess... I _may_ have overreacted a little.” Andrew huffs, but daren’t say anything. “I just…”

Allison walks into the kitchen, opens the fridge and says, “Oh good, have you made up? Kindly fuck off then, I’m going to commit unspeakable acts to Renee on the sofa.”

Neil’s eyebrows raise to the top of his head, and Andrew says, “Have fun,” and pulls him back to bed.

In bed, he’s kissing Neil, and Neil’s hands are where they always are, touching lightly at his hips, never pushing too far, and Andrew feels like he’s floating, but it’s like something is pushing at his memory and he can’t quite... “Wait,” he murmurs against Neil, and Neil pulls away, wet and breathless.

“Mm,” says Neil. Squeezes Andrew’s hips. “Is it time for sleep?” His eyes are still closed and Andrew manoeuvres them up the pillows a little, brushes hair out of Neil’s eyes.

“Just,” he says. Neil opens his eyes. “You just what.”

Neil frowns at him. Then he smiles. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Earlier. In the kitchen.”

Neil shrugs. “Nope. Can’t remember. Sorry. Kiss me.”

Andrew kisses him.

In the morning he’s on cereal duty, when Allison corners him in the kitchen.

“Mystery man,” she greets, moving around him to turn on the coffee machine, to fetch mugs. He pointedly gets two more down and puts them by hers. He mumbles hello. He hides sugary cereal under the healthy crap Neil likes, mixes them together in the two bowls. Waits for the fridge to be free so he can gather milk.

But Allison has one hand on it, and is looking at him. So he leans against the counter, crosses his arms. Waits.

“What was that?” she asks, a little petulantly, one hand hovering like it actually wants to land on her hip.

Andrew frowns. “What was what.” When she doesn’t elaborate straight away he adds, “Milk.”

She sighs, amusement and irritation warring on her face, but she opens the fridge door and finds the milk, handing it over. When his back is turned, pouring milk over the bowls she says, “Last night. You pissed him off.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, knowing it’s none of her business, aware both that Neil might tell her anyway and that this is her kitchen. Her ground.

“Hmm.” When she’s finished making four coffees she grabs two and faces Andrew. He looks straight at her. “Just watch it.” She raises one eyebrow as she says this, a curve to her mouth, and leaves the kitchen.

Andrew brings the bowls to Neil first, placing them on the nightstand, pushing hair out of Neil’s face, kissing his forehead. Returns for the mugs. When he’s back a second time Neil is stirring, pleased, eyes half-open and half-smiling back at him. Andrew looks away.

They eat breakfast, side by side, mostly in silence, some surprise from Neil when he discovers a different cereal in his bowl, some teasing that Andrew’s has very little of Neil’s favourite in it, mostly Andrew is quiet, smiles when he can’t help it, doesn’t look at Neil while he thinks. When they’re done, bowls to one side, Andrew meets Neil’s eyes, and Neil is smiling at him. Soft. Cute. Bright and expectant and looking at Andrew like he’s seeing the same. More than Andrew deserves, he knows. Neil shuffles a hand around under the pillow, finds his phone and holds it up to Andrew. Andrew sighs, grabs his own from the nightstand, and starts typing.

**_birthdays are a social construct_**

 **** _is that right_

_**stop being smug**_

_no, I don’t think I will  
you were mean, and I’m telling ali_

_**oh calm down princess**_

Neil shuffles further into bed, and when Andrew glances at him he’s grinning.

_well?_

Andrew sighs, gathering in breath, distributing it throughout his body. He hesitates.

**_it’s just dinner_**

 **** _where?_

_**some restaurant**_

**** _enlightening_

_**you’re coming, of course**_

_oh, of course now?  
maybe I’m busy_

_**I’m not that lucky**_

Neil shifts so that their shoulders are touching.

_can I buy you a birthday present?_

**_no  
but I know you will anyway_ **

_not if you say no, andrew  
it’s not like you’ve told me why you’re being so weird about this_

Andrew turns his phone upside down, abruptly, stares at the wall opposite. Neil picks up his mug and blows across it and sips, content apparently to curl a little against Andrew, eyes closed against the headboard, to let Andrew watch him out the corner of his eye.

Eventually Andrew picks up his phone again.

**_birthdays are stupid_**

Neil huffs, puts his mug down.

_wow  
I can see how it took you some time to gather that argument together_

_**had some bad ones**_

It’s all Andrew wants to say, and he’s feeling itchy, and wants to put his phone away, doesn’t want any of these memories, not right now, not when he’s in bed with Neil.

_ok_

Andrew closes his eyes at the word, takes in a deep breath, and on exhale feels Neil’s hand close around the back of his neck, fingers reaching up into his hair. Neil whispers, “I don’t have to come, Andrew. We can ignore it. Do you want that to be your birthday present?” When Andrew looks at him Neil is smiling.

It’s too much.

He kisses him, it’s just a brush of lips really, but the taste of him sends something sweet and addictive stinging in his gut. Andrew sighs, buries his face in Neil’s neck, mumbles, “Whatever.”

“Whatever like, I should come to your totally awesome birthday party that you definitely didn’t purposefully not invite me to – or whatever like, we should spend the day doing whatever I want because after all birthdays are not really about you, they’re about the people who – um – like you.”

Andrew clenches his hands around Neil’s hips. “So when’s _your_ birthday, hmm?”

“Oh, well,” Neil says, sounding shifty, “ _Well_ –”

“Nope.” Andrew withdraws his head, glares at him. “Mr Big Fucking Deal. When is yours?”

“I mean,” Neil is hesitant. “I guess. January.” He doesn’t meet Andrew’s eyes.

Andrew raises one eyebrow. “You guess?” Neil shrugs. “See? Birthdays. Complete bullshit.”

Neil’s eyes lower, and he looks tired, and Andrew’s heart thuds against his chest. “Look,” Andrew begins. And then picks up his phone again.

**_I didn’t purposefully not invite you  
I just didn’t think about it at all  
ok?_ **

_ok  
but you have to tell me what you want me to do  
whatever you want, it’s fine  
I will try not to be pathetic about it  
you make me feel pathetic sometimes_

Andrew frowns at the screen. That doesn’t sound good.

_I don’t mean like  
um  
I mean sometimes I like you so much I just  
worry  
it makes me a bit  
crazy I guess_

Andrew’s breath catches somewhere in his lungs, and somewhere else in his body he registers Neil’s stilted texting that means he’s working through something for the first time, and he’s doing it with Andrew, and the vulnerability should make him uncomfortable, but instead he drops his phone and cradles Neil’s head with two hands and kisses him, and hears him drop his own phone, and registers Neil shimmying until he’s lying flat, his hands pulling at Andrew’s shoulders until he’s on top, and he’s kissing him, and it tastes so fucking good.

When he pulls away for air, hands scratching into Neil’s hair, and Neil’s own gripping his shoulders, Andrew breathes against his cheek, “You make me crazy too.”

Neil hums, pleased, against his ear, kisses it, and Andrew frowns. Hating himself.

“Friday is just a day,” Andrew says, trying to remind himself the point of all this, trying to hate himself a little less. “But my cousin is making me go out for dinner. And you know how much I hate restaurants. And going outside. And Nicky.”

“Some of those things are lies,” Neil mumbles.

“Maybe you could come. Make it more tolerable.”

“I can do that.”

“Ok.” Andrew feels spent, like the short conversation has taken more out of him than the kissing. It probably has. He pulls away to glare at Neil. “No presents though.”

“Hmm.”

They eventually compromise. No gifts. But Neil is allowed to spend the day with Andrew. No one is allowed to do any college work, Neil is allowed to do nice things for Andrew, Andrew’s allowed to pretend it’s a normal Friday. It’s not a bad compromise, he thinks, especially when he noted the way his easy agreement made Neil’s entire face light up.

_I’m coming over early tomorrow_

_**I don’t understand why you’re not here already**_

**** _needy_

**_how dare you  
I’m just being practical, neil  
it’s more efficient, considering you said we could spend some of the day napping  
so why aren’t you here already_ **

_haha  
look, you said it yourself  
maybe I’m worried I’ll never leave  
I pay rent here you know  
need to make the most out of my buck, or whatever_

**_sure  
I know what you mean_ **

**** _um?_

_**you’re expensive as all hell**_

_excuse me  
I am not  
when have I cost anything_

**_there’s more to life than money  
being with you has aged me  
when will I get the years of my life back_ **

_oh my god  
andrew  
literal biggest drama queen_

**_anyway  
when tomorrow_ **

**** _early_

_**how early**_

**** _go to bed andrew_

_**I don’t like this**_

**** _yeah it’s pretty weird holding all the power for once_

_**message me when you leave?**_

**** _I’ll message when I wake up_

_**no one needs that in their life**_

_haha  
andrew **  
**I I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow_

_**when you wake up**_

_when I wake up_

**_ok  
go to sleep_ **

_you too_

**_good night neil_ **

_goodnight andrew xx_

Andrew is woken by a soft knocking on his front door. He feels a small smile stretch across his face before he acknowledges why, before he wriggles a little in his bed, before he thinks _let him wait_ , before he remembers what day it is, before the smile fades and is replaced by a long drawn-in breath, released out into his pillow, feet dragging him out of bed.

King follows him out. Andrew puts his hand on the doorknob, picks up King with one hand and holds him against his chest, sighs into his fur, opens the front door. 

Neil is standing there. Just standing, not doing anything special. He’s wearing that jacket Andrew likes. The puffy one with the fur collar. His backpack, high on his shoulders. His stupid smile. His bright eyes. His hair. Andrew sucks in a breath.

Neil just stands there, smiling. “Hey.”

Even after six weeks, it’s still like this. Andrew lets his breath out as he says back, “Hey.” He stands aside, lets Neil move past him, shuts the door. “It’s early.”

“It’s not that early.” Neil runs a hand over King’s fur, and Andrew wants to kiss him, so he bends to drop King to the floor, and when he rises it’s into Neil’s open arms, wrapping around him like they do sometimes, Andrew’s elbows bent to his sides in the circle of Neil, hands pushing through his hair as he kisses him, and kisses him.

Neil moves away, murmurs against his lips, “Hi.”

“You said that already,” Andrew says, hating how cracked his voice sounds.

He opens his eyes. Neil is smiling. “I know.”

“So.” Andrew doesn’t really know what to say. Doesn’t know why this shouldn’t feel like any normal day. He hates his birthday, but it doesn’t exactly bother him. He just ignores it. Maybe it would bother him if he didn’t ignore it as successfully as he usually did. He wouldn’t know.

“I brought things.” Neil sounds excited, and Andrew narrows his eyes as he leans against the back of the sofa.

“It’s Friday,” he says, meaning _it’s not my birthday, birthdays are a construct, we said no presents._

_I’ve never had a good one._

“I know,” says Neil, and there’s no pity in his eyes, no reluctance, no resistance. He’s still smiling as his hand rummages in his bag, on the counter in the kitchen half of the room. “Ingredients,” he explains, arranging things in a particular order. “I thought we’d make a cake.”

“We?” Andrew says.

Neil shrugs. “Fine. I’ll make a cake. You can lie in that bed all by yourself, sulking.”

“Hmm.” Andrew watches as Neil moves away from the counter into the living room, somehow also manages to produce a blanket from the same bag – green, which he drapes alongside the purple one already present on Andrew’s sofa – and then holds up two DVDs.

Andrew finally joins him, runs one hand up his side while he takes the movies with the other. “DVDs,” he says, drily, when he’s the one with a DVD player, a small collection of movies. Neil moves to hug him from behind, two hands wrapping around his stomach, and Andrew says, “You know I have _Benjamin_ already.” Neil shrugs over his shoulder. “ _Love Simon?”_

“It’s on Ali’s list,” says Neil.

“Ah.” Andrew is clutching two movies, that Neil picked out for them to watch, on a day they’re going to spend together. Neil doesn’t even really like movies. Or, well, maybe he does now. They watch them together sometimes. Sometimes with Neil’s friends. Andrew wants an updated opinion. Why doesn’t he know if Neil likes movies? He’s clutching these DVDs, and Neil’s just standing, waiting, and Andrew’s looking at them. Two movies, one of his favourites, one that Neil’s best friend picked out. From her list of gay films. That she’s showing to Neil.

Andrew feels uncomfortable and he has no idea why. And he can feel Neil stiffening behind him, awkward, like Andrew’s already ruining this somehow, so Andrew says, “Thank you,” and puts them down on the coffee table, and grabs Neil’s hands round his middle, unwraps them, and turns, and says, “Really.”

Neil smiles. Bends to scratch at King, curling round his leg.

They move around each other. Neil makes breakfast – cereal, and coffee, and orange juice, and kissing against the counter top, and Andrew’s hands circled round Neil waist – and they take breakfast to the sofa, and Neil says, “Movie?”

Andrew grabs his purple blanket, tosses the green one to Neil’s side of the sofa. “ _Benjamin_ ,” he says, something like triumph settling in his stomach at having his favourite movie, and his favourite cereal – he bobs his spoon in and out, watches sugary cereal battling it out with oats and anonymous fruit – his favourite blanket draped over his knees. Lifts his eyes to follow Neil to the sofa.

“Ok princess,” Neil says with a grin, and Andrew pokes him in the arm with a milky spoon.

They watch the movie – that they’ve both seen before, though never together – and Neil looks good wrapped up in his blanket, on his end of the sofa, dark red hair messy on top of his head and green wool wrapped around him in a messy scratchy heap, eyes bright and amused and Andrew’s toes poking against his feet – while Andrew explains why the movie is in fact not cringey or overwhelmingly sad, like Neil seems to think it, but simply an honest portrayal on how impossible true communication is.

Neil frowns at the screen at one point. “You think true communication is impossible?”

Andrew doesn’t have to think before he replies, “Yes.”

This doesn’t seem to please Neil. He shifts his feet against Andrew’s, annoyed or contemplative, and King meows at him, a little dislodged, and Neil strokes one hand through his fur absently, and passes Andrew their morning movie popcorn without looking at him.

Andrew wants to ask, but he doesn’t. He takes the bowl of popcorn, holds it in his lap. He doesn’t have to defend his position, doesn’t have to explain. Doesn’t want to, really. He doesn’t have to be anyone other than who he is and if Neil –

“Why?”

“No one can say everything that’s going on in their head.”

“Why not?”

“You sound like a three year old.”

“Evasive.”

Andrew shrugs. Picks at the popcorn. Doesn’t look away from the screen. “It is not possible to communicate everything you think. You probably don’t know everything you think. The person you’re communicating with might not know the same words as you, might not have the same experiences, the same – how can you explain to someone what rain feels like on your skin if they’ve never been in it?” He waves his hand noncommittally. “Too many barriers.” And then, frowning, he adds, “People are broken.” He means it to sound dismissive, critical, grumpy. Goth, Neil would call it. Means it as a tool to lighten words which are otherwise veering dangerously into dangerously honest territory.

But Neil is just annoyed. “People aren’t all broken. No one is _broken_. Just because something is hard doesn’t make it impossible.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m serious, Andrew.” And he is, because he’s taking Andrew’s elbow in an effort to turn him so they’re facing each other. Something in his expression softens when he looks at Andrew, and Andrew doesn’t know why. Neil says, “You know you can tell me anything.”

Andrew doesn’t quite laugh, but it’s difficult. He rolls his eyes, removes his arm from Neil’s hold, says, “Yes, Neil,” and sticks his hand back in the popcorn.

They don’t talk about it again.

They do talk about

Andrew’s crush on Colin Morgan – Andrew shocked and horrified that Neil has never heard of the BBC _Merlin_ series, saying he’ll make a mental note to make Neil watch it, actually standing up and finding a pad of paper so he can write _Relationship goals_ at the top and _Merlin_ below that, and he just wanted to make Neil laugh, just meant it as a joke, but for some reason Neil kisses him softly on the cheek, and then hard and messy on the lips, and Andrew pushes him away and chucks the pad on the coffee table –

and whether Neil can do an Irish accent – he can’t, but his attempts have Neil folded over laughing at himself, Andrew with one hand on his upper arm, gripping like Neil might fall off the sofa, his mouth squirming into a smile, something like laughter in his chest –

and Neil’s dormant British accent – Andrew points to various objects in the room and gets Neil to say them once in his American accent and once in British, and the skill is uncanny and it makes Andrew shift on the sofa until he’s comfy again, something like a glint in Neil’s triumphant eyes _told you I’m not British – say bottle again –_

And when the movie’s over and it’s lunchtime, but they’re full of second helpings of cereal and a mountain of popcorn, and Andrew was promised napping, they move to bed. 

In bed they kiss, and talk, and kiss, and when Andrew closes his eyes he feels Neil pull him on top of his chest, and hears purring, and Neil saying, “You coming to join us?” and then a soft _flump_ as King jumps up and lands somewhere, and then they doze. Or at least Andrew does, one hand curled under Neil’s torso. And Andrew waking sometimes to shift around on top of Neil, who mostly seems to be reading his phone, or talking quietly to King, or just lying there with his eyes closed, face pressed to the top of Andrew’s head.

Andrew stirs, and decides to wake up properly. Sandwiched between Neil and blankets. Lifts his head to find Neil’s hand carding through his hair, to find Neil just watching him. Andrew blinks sleep out his eyes. “Creepy.”

“Mm,” Neil says, closing his eyes and falling back and bringing Andrew with him. “How do you manage to nap for this long. You’re so lazy.” Neil fidgets a little under him, and Andrew checks the clock on the wall, realises a couple of hours have passed. Realises Neil has been quiet, still, with him, all this time.

“Hey,” he says, low and quiet and sleepy, “it’s my – Friday,” petulant, feeling Neil’s heart beating under his. God it’s intoxicating. He never knew he could become so addicted to something so quickly.

Neil smiles, eyes still closed, Andrew practically leaning over him now, wanting a good look. He has time to make up. “Yes. It’s your Friday. We can be as lazy as you want.”

“Hmm.” Andrew just watches him, crosses his arms over Neil’s chest for balance, lets his feet flop either side of Neil’s. He just wants to – he nudges his nose into Neil’s cheek, kisses his cheekbone, watches as his eyes open, nudges down so he can nose along the edges of his jaw.

Neil is becoming more alert under him, the lines of his body tense, or shifting, his hands moving from fidgeting over Andrew’s shoulders to tightening over the muscles at his waist. Andrew feels it like pain, knows it’s something different. Imagines it instead like fire spreading through his body. Neil is warm beneath him. Heavy. Solid.

“Hey, Andrew,” Neil says, like he’s starting a sentence. Andrew leaves one hand thumbing over his jaw, his neck, the other pushing him up a little off Neil’s chest, and raises his eyes, waits for the rest.

Neil’s hand is moving over Andrew’s back, little circles over his spine, over his tshirt, when he says, “Who’s going tonight?” 

“Hmm?” Andrew is kissing Neil’s neck. Just kissing. _Just kissing_ , he thinks derisively. Just? Neil’s skin is warm, and soft, and Andrew brings up a hand to direct it closer to his mouth.

“Tonight,” Neil says, both firm and a little lost all at once, arms tightening around Andrew’s back, the delicate circles gone, now running two hands up and down him, slow, firm.

“You,” Andrew says, dragging his teeth along Neil’s jaw, feeling him respond beneath him, feels lost, returns to the kissing, says, “Me. Nicky. Kevin. Aaron. Katelyn.”

“Katelyn?”

“Mm.”

“Oh, is she the girlfriend?”

“Yes.” Andrew wants to bury himself in Neil’s hair. He runs his nose up the side of Neil’s face, over his ear, into his hair, his body dragging up Neil’s with the movement, Neil’s hand on his back, fingers slipping just under the hem of Andrew’s jeans.

“Katelyn’s going?”

Andrew sighs into Neil’s hair, grasps it in one hand, stills long enough to say, “Problem?”

Neil sounds tight when he says, “No,” but he feels loose below Andrew, and it takes everything, _everything_ , for Andrew to whisper,

“We should stop,”

not because he doesn’t know this, not because he thinks not wanting to stop is more important than what Neil wants, but because –

Neil is practically shivering below him, beneath him, against Andrew’s body, and his fingers are definitely running under the top of his jeans now, and he doesn’t remember the last time anyone touched him there, Neil never has, Neil has only touched him at all a couple of times, and it’s been amazing, because it’s been Neil, and it’s been enough, and Andrew thinks –

“Why?” Neil’s voice is no more than a murmur against Andrew’s ear, low. Quiet. Andrew shudders out a breath.

He feels lost. Wishes they could have this conversation when Neil wasn’t undoing Andrew’s jeans with one hand and pushing the other down the back of them, murmuring, “Andrew,” against his cheek.

Andrew helplessly breathes, “Yes,” into Neil’s ear, and moves his own hand over the front of Neil’s tshirt, asks, “Neil, I don’t know –” and Neil grabs Andrew’s hand and moves it underneath, and now Andrew’s fingers are there, touching Neil, and he thinks he might be shaking, and he tries not to, but Neil’s skin is warm, and he’s built, his muscles clenching under Andrew’s unsure fingertips, and he’s scarred, and Andrew desperately flicks back to Neil’s story on their first date, and he wants to kiss the scarring on Neil’s face, and at the same time Andrew wants to look at his chest, doesn’t want to ask – he wants to ask – “Wait,” he says, shifting back from Neil’s hair, leaning to the side and opening his eyes just as Neil sits up and takes his tshirt off.

Andrew is still, eyes locked onto Neil’s, one hand already reaching back out before he’s even looked, before Neil is reaching for him again and Andrew is leaning over Neil again and kissing him helplessly, and Neil is kissing back, panting into his mouth, and Neil is _topless_ and Andrew’s fingers are skating numbly over his chest, _fuck_ , and his skin is so warm, and Neil’s hands are pushing his jeans down, and his boxers, and now they’re both half-naked and Andrew still thinks, “Wait,” or does he say it, because Neil stops with one hand curled against his thigh, the other retreating up to his lower back.

“Andrew,” Neil groans against his mouth, and Andrew frowns, because Neil has never sounded like this before.

“I don’t,” Andrew says, and clears his throat, and moves his head away and sinks his face into the pillow next to Neil, lets his fingers curl into Neil’s hair, needs a moment to gather himself. “I don’t know what you want.”

“What I always want, Andrew,” Neil says, fingers twitching against him, heart pounding under Andrew’s, “what I always want,” and then he brings one hand up to the back of Andrew’s head, tugs him gently up, eyes boring into his. “You said to let you know.” Andrew stops. Stops breathing. Stops moving. Doesn’t feel Neil’s fingers skating over him, playing in his hairs, moving lower, brushing against him. Doesn’t feel it because he’s staring into his eyes, he wishes he could _see_ – “I’m letting you know.”

Andrew can’t look away, can’t move. And Neil, because he’s this perfect thing, says, “Andrew?” and removes his hands entirely, moves them into Andrew’s hair, holds him gently, eyes rearranging into something concerned. “Talk to me.”

Andrew takes in a deep breath, feels it all the way to the bottom of his chest, places a steadying hand on Neil’s shoulder, grips the material there, tries to find something steady in Neil’s eyes, but they’re darting all over Andrew’s face, and Andrew has to look away, so he doesn’t watch Neil’s expression, instead watches the fabric of his grey tshirt, tight under Andrew’s grip, as he says, “I thought you didn’t want this.”

Neil nods, and shakes his head, and says, “Yeah. I didn’t. But I um – I do now. I want it now,” and the way he says _now_ is almost desperate, and Andrew looks at him then, and Neil does look steady now, a slight frown on an otherwise breathless expression as he says, low and sure, “Yes or no, Andrew?”

It’s messy, because after Andrew’s breathed out _yes_ _fuck_ it’s all hands, and mouths, and Neil panting against him, and Andrew spends some of his time fighting against the threat of bad memories, and much more of his time not being able to get enough of Neil. There’s too much. He undoes Neil’s jeans, pushes them down, noses his face into the hair there, inhales, hears Neil pant above him. Takes him, half-hard, into his mouth. _God._ The taste is better than in dreams. The reality, something bitter and heavy and wet and real on his tongue, Neil warm and squirming beneath him, is better than in dreams.

And then Neil grabs blindly for Andrew’s bedside drawer, like he knows – which he doesn’t, and Andrew bats his hand away impatiently, attaches his mouth to Neil’s, fumbles himself, finds lube, and a condom, and pulls away a little to say, “Neil. Are you sure?”

But Neil is _sucking_ at Andrew’s neck, and stroking him, and completely naked beneath him, and Andrew cannot function, and Andrew says, “ _Neil_.”

Neil shudders out, “Yes, Andrew, come on,” and Andrew is gone.

He _wants_ this.

And then he’s finally pushing his fingers into Neil, and out, and Neil sucks in through his teeth against Andrew’s neck, and Andrew says, “Neil,”

and Neil mumbles, fierce and muffled, “ _Yes_.”

And Andrew waits,

and waits,

and Neil moans,

and Andrew _waits_ ,

And then _Andrew_ is pushing into him, slowly, so slowly he thinks it might be him that’s breaking, and he’s telling Neil to take in a deep breath as he goes, and Neil’s doing it, and he’s doing so well, and he feels _incredible_ – warm, and lovely against him, bodies sliding together and just _fitting_ – and Andrew lifts his head to watch his face, pushes his hair off his forehead, and says, “Are you ok,”

and Neil says, on an exhale, “ _Oh my god_ ,” which is one of those things that Neil says a lot, that Andrew can never get enough of, because it’s usually after Andrew has said something dramatic, but this is the first time he thinks Neil has ever said those words to him _like that_ , and it’s almost enough to distract him from how it feels –

“Andrew, come on,”

And he kisses Neil through it, and Neil kisses him back when he’s not breathless, his hands on Andrew’s hair, and his shoulders, and Andrew says, “Touch me,” and means it, and Neil does, and it’s fucking beautiful, and Andrew says, “Neil, you’re so good, you’re so good, Neil... Neil, _fuck_ ,” and scratches his cheek against Neil’s, and Neil moans and lifts his hips and Andrew feels everything rising up and bites his lip and fists his hand into Neil’s hair and lets the fall of his name from Neil’s lips fucking hurtle him over the edge.

Andrew comes down, and he’s never been so out of breath. It’s an exaggeration, he thinks, but he never – he can feel his chest, cleaned out, cavernous, like he’s run a marathon, like he’s empty inside, like he’s having a panic attack. And Neil is smug against him, smiling, talking to him, and Andrew closes his eyes, and nods, and Neil makes a joke about him being tired again after napping for so long, and Andrew pulls out of Neil, and starts to pull away, but instead he lets Neil arrange them side by side, scooting backwards into Andrew’s chest, and Andrew wraps his arms around Neil, and Neil mumbles something to him, and Andrew kisses the back of his neck, and listens as Neil falls asleep.

Andrew gets up. He’s restless. He needs to move. He disentangles himself from Neil’s sleeping body, and when he stirs Andrew murmurs, “Water,” and makes himself kiss the back of Neil’s head, and watches as Neil scrunches his face back into his pillow, a nod, or a subconscious acceptance that he can still sleep. Andrew pulls himself backwards and shuts the door to the bathroom softly. He doesn’t look in the mirror as he undresses, as he turns the shower on, as he lets hot water pound down his back.

He has a balcony, but it’s off the bedroom, so he leaves a note on the kitchen counter _Cigarettes_ and leaves the apartment.

He walks ten blocks before he remembers to buy cigarettes, ignoring the press of the packet against his thigh.

It’s five of the blocks back to the apartment before it occurs to him to think.

Andrew has a therapist, who he sees once a week. Neil has never asked about her. Andrew has never talked about it. But Neil knows.

Andrew knows Bee would say _What’s wrong Andrew,_ knowing it was too broad a question to warrant a response. Andrew hates broad questions. Too hard. So then she would say something like _what are you feeling,_ and Andrew wouldn’t know. It would get narrowed again, halved and halved again into a block so small even Andrew’s brain could participate in it. _Where are you feeling it?_

Andrew pulls a cigarette out now, lights it with shaky fingers.

_Everywhere_.

_And what are you feeling everywhere?_

_Nothing._

Andrew stubs his fourth cigarette out on the wall, throws it away, and heads up to his apartment. He turns the key in the lock, opens the door, leans back against it to shut it. Neil is sat on his sofa, a bowl of something in his hand, tv on. He looks up. His face is carefully blank. “Hey,” he says.

Andrew nods, drops his keys on the counter and fills a glass with water. And downs it.

He hears Neil move behind him. “Did you buy cigarettes?”

Andrew nods, stays at the sink to wash his glass.

“Is... everything ok?”

Andrew nods.

“Ok. I mean, I guess I know it’s not, because you’re not talking to me or looking at me and you’ve been gone nearly an hour.”

Andrew turns then, sees that what’s in Neil’s hand is a bowl of cake mixture, blended, and he realises that heat he feels is his oven turned on, and when he looks up Neil’s hair is rearranged, still glistening, but basically dry. Andrew frowns.

“Um, right.” Neil takes in a deep breath, and then moves around the kitchen, spooning the cake mixture into a pan, putting it in the oven, filling up the bowl with hot soapy water. Andrew watches this expecting to feel something like _regret_ as Neil lets good caked-on-the-bowl cake mixture go to waste under the foam of cleaning. He feels nothing.

“Can we just sit down?” Neil says, carefully, like he’s talking to a child. Andrew picks at his sleeves and moves to the sofa without waiting for him. He sits at one end, legs crossed under him, arms crossed, lets his weight sink into the sofa. Wishes Neil wasn’t here.

Neil hovers at the edge of his peripheral vision. “I don’t even know if you want cake. But I’ve made it now. We can always have it tomorrow.” Andrew says nothing. “Do you want to watch the other movie I brought?” Andrew looks up at him then, realising he has no idea what time it is. “We have time,” Neil says, because he’s perfect, “it’s 4 and we don’t have to leave for a couple of hours,” and Andrew frowns, and looks away. “Or... Andrew.” Neil sits on the coffee table, and Andrew looks down. “Andrew. I could... leave? Do you want me to go? I don’t...”

_Fuck._ Andrew rubs one hand over his forehead. Leaves it there.

He forces himself to think.

He thinks, _feeling is a long way off, maybe._

He thinks, _I’m being a fucking asshole._

He thinks, _I want Neil to go._

He thinks, _Neil._

Neil starts rising from the coffee table, and Andrew is hit with a moment of indecision. So he makes a calculation. Lifts his head out of his hand and stands and reaches out a hand and catches Neil’s arm, and croaks out, “Stay,” and watches as Neil turns to face him, as he pulls out of his grip and shoves his hands in his pockets, as his face is crumpled all over, and Andrew has the distinct feeling of hating himself.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Did I... did something happen? Was it me?”

Neil sounds so broken, Andrew wants to break things. Himself, maybe.

Andrew shakes his head. He doesn’t know. He shakes his head and looks away and lifts a hand again, to grab at something, to hold on, he doesn’t know.

Neil takes it in his hand, “Ok, it’s ok,” and Andrew stops shaking his head, and looks at the ground, and lets Neil pull him an inch forward, but they don’t touch anywhere other than their hands, Neil gripping Andrew’s palm tightly between fingers, and Andrew releases a breath of relief that he won’t be required to touch, and Neil says, “Andrew, I think I’m going to go. It’s ok. I won’t... I’ll just see you at the restaurant, ok?” Andrew nods, doesn’t look at him, and Neil squeezes his hand, once, and turns the oven off, and grabs his bag, now empty of possessions, and leaves.

**Nicky:** HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LITTLE GUYS

 **Aaron:** thanks nicky

 **Aaron:** don’t call us that

**Nicky: 😍🤩😘**

**Nicky:** what time are we meeting at the restaurant??

 **Aaron:** you booked the table

 **Nicky:** well I know what time, it’s a pop quiz

 **Kevin:** 7pm

 **Nicky:** KEVIN I forgot you were here

 **Kevin:** thanks

 **Nicky:** haha no offence

 **Aaron:** lol

 **Kevin:** well, andrew added me, it’s not my fault I’m in this group

 **Nicky:** he’s impulsive

 **Aaron:** you mean self-destructive

 **Nicky:** AARON

 **Nicky:** it’s the best day of the year!

 **Nicky:** no being mean

 **Nicky:** is katelyn still coming?

 **Aaron:** yes

 **Nicky:** ANDREW you never told us if you were inviting neil

 **Nicky:** ANDREW

 **Nicky:** ANDREW

 **Nicky:** _@ANDREW_

 **Aaron:** you think you can annoy him into answering?

\---

 **Andrew:** just leaving

 **Nicky:** great!!

 **Nicky:** wait, you’re just leaving? I’m almost there!

 **Nicky:** is neil coming??

Andrew hovers outside the restaurant. He lights a cigarette. He’s wearing his brown leather jacket, white tshirt, his black skinny jeans. He slept, showered again. He’s here ten minutes late, which he thinks is the perfect amount of late. He thinks Nicky disagrees, by the insistent buzzing in his pocket. He wonders if Neil is already here. If he came at all.

He finishes his cigarette and heads inside, and finds the table. A booth: Aaron and Katelyn on one side, Nicky and Kevin at the end, Neil on the other.

Andrew heads to the table, and sinks into the seat next to Neil, and kisses him on the cheek. And then scoots away, leaving a solid few inches between them.

“Andrew! You’re late,” Nicky scolds.

“Happy birthday,” says Kevin.

“Hello Andrew,” says Katelyn. 

Andrew picks up the menu.

“Don’t bother,” mutters Aaron.

Neil shifts a little to Andrew’s side.

“Don’t worry Andrew, we’ve already introduced Neil and Katelyn,” Nicky says with a heavy sigh. “You get deducted boyfriend points for making Neil come without you and making your cousin do the introductions. This is not good birthday etiquette.” His voice is cheery, and he starts telling Andrew, and everyone, about the menu, and his favourite options, and guessing what people will order, and Katelyn joins in, her girly voice grating and making Andrew grit his teeth.

He shouldn’t have come.

Neil hasn’t even looked at him.

The restaurant is loud, too loud for Andrew, and though he drowns out the background noise with the voices of his family, it’s all a little too much.

They order, and Andrew makes himself look up and face Aaron, and thinks _happy birthday_.

Neil is talking to Kevin, and Andrew listens for a while, but it’s a lot of dry exy facts, like not even they are fully into the conversation, and Nicky is leaning forward on his elbows to ask Katelyn questions about cheerleading, and Aaron is watching them, and listening, and has this easy blank expression on his face that makes something clench in Andrew’s stomach. And it all just makes Andrew feel really, really tired. Why are any of them here?

He gets up to go to the bar, hesitates, goes. Gets a whisky for himself and a water for Neil, returns and puts it in front of Neil without saying anything. Neil takes it without looking away from Kevin. At some point Neil needs to get out to go to the bathroom, so Andrew stands to let him pass, and grabs his hand as he goes. It feels important. He squeezes once without looking at him, and after a second Neil continues walking.

Andrew sits down and scoots over to Kevin, and plays with his glass. Kevin is looking at him, he thinks. He drinks.

Nicky is being loud and enthusiastic, and Katelyn is laughing as Aaron is trying to explain or correct something, so Andrew knows no one else can hear when Kevin says, quiet, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Andrew sighs. And flicks him a look. And says, “Nothing, Kevin.”

Kevin raises an eyebrow. “Right. Your dream guy is here and you’re not saying two words to anyone, not even to him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“He’s not your dream guy?”

“He’s just –” But there’s no way to end that sentence. Andrew lifts his glass again. Lets a cool bitter taste wash down words that aren’t there.

“Well,” says Kevin, awkward, like he doesn’t want to continue down this route.

So Andrew says, “How’s the team.”

And Kevin talks. Andrew always liked the sound of Kevin’s voice. It’s deep, not as deep as Andrew’s, and smooth, monotone, like you can rely on it to be unchanging. It grabs hold of Andrew and doesn’t let him go, holds him above water height. So whenever Kevin pauses, Andrew says, “right,” and “yes,” and “sounds interesting,” and “tell me more,” and even delivered in his own dry not-really-there tone, Kevin does tell him more, and Andrew didn’t even notice Neil getting back, but he notices when Neil stands, abruptly.

“Hey, woah there,” says Nicky, steadying the table which jolts against Neil’s sudden movement.

“Sorry,” says Neil, looking at Nicky. “I have to go. This is fucking ridiculous.” And he grabs his jacket, and leaves. 

Panic. It’s the first thing Andrew has felt for hours. Pushing against the sides of his skin. Panic, or dread. He lets it settle into dread as limbs which at first pushed to move sink instead against leather. Knowing.

Aaron glares at him. “The fuck did you do Andrew?”

Andrew drains his drink.

Nicky is playing with his napkin. “Um, shouldn’t you go after him?”

Andrew darts him a look. “I didn’t say anything to him.”

“Exactly,” mutters Kevin.

Katelyn looks awkward, opens her mouth, and Andrew feels abruptly angry, and says, “Don’t you say a fucking word.”

And Aaron clenches a fist on the table. Forced politeness in his tone. “Hey Andrew. How about you stay on your side of the table.”

It’s a warning. He doesn’t care.

Nicky is looking at all of them, at the food Andrew has barely eaten. Sighs. “Andrew, come on. Go after him. Kevin will get the bill.”

Andrew stands at Kevin’s protests, and leaves.

Of course, Neil isn’t there when he gets outside. Didn’t wait for him. Didn’t expect anything of him. Andrew gets out his phone, and types nothing. And goes home.

In his apartment is a half-baked cake in the oven. Ruined. Ingredients littering the counter. Two DVDs on the coffee table. A bowl that used to contain popcorn.

Neil’s green blanket.

Andrew ignores all of it and goes straight to bed.

The weekend passes by in a blur of missed calls, unanswered messages, getting out of bed to feed King, to change his bedsheets, to pull books or his laptop or King into bed.

On Sunday afternoon he’s lying in bed, pressing his hand into his eyes, his forehead. Something is coming back, and he doesn’t want it to. He liked the bit where he could just lie in bed and think of nothing at all. Feel nothing at all.

He picks up his phone. Nothing from Neil.

Puts it down again.

Restlessness has been creeping over him for an hour, he knows it.

He sits up. Stretches. Picks up his phone again.

Opens a new chat with Allison.

**_Is he home?_**

Stands up. God he hates feeling restless. Much better to feel nothing.

A second later

_Yes. Why. What did you do?_

Andrew doesn’t reply.

He doesn’t really know what he’s doing. He can’t just go over there. He’s not sure he has anything useful to say.

But the expression on Neil’s face as he left Andrew’s apartment, as he tried to work out if he’d done something wrong, after he’d given himself to Andrew like that.

“Fuck sake,” Andrew mutters, getting his phone out again.

**_I’m coming over. Tell him or don’t._**

Andrew quickly changes his clothes, grabs his keys, and drives to Neil’s.

He’s not expecting a warm response. He’s not sure what he’s expecting. Him and Neil have never really fought. Not in person. A couple of times, when they were just talking. _Just_ talking? Were they ever really _just_ anything?

Something like panic flares in Andrew’s chest and, now that feeling is plummeting back into his body it occurs to him for the first time since Friday that he might have really fucked this up.

He bangs on Neil’s door. Is expecting Allison when she opens up. She blocks the doorway and raises an eyebrow at him. “What did you do?” she says, usual humour gone from her voice.

“Are you going to let me in?” asks Andrew, willing calm into his body. Willing his arms still.

Allison rolls her eyes. “Of course I am.” She moves aside, but puts one hand in front of him; doesn’t touch him, but doesn’t let him by. He looks up at her. She looks very unimpressed, and he doesn’t have time for this. “He’s barely left his room. It’s like how it was before you showed up. Just – don’t take your assholery in there, ok?”

Andrew is struck for a minute that he expected her to be a complete bitch to him, but she sounds more like a concerned mother. He nods, isn’t really sure what he’s promising, and makes his way to Neil’s room.

He knocks, once. Twice. Calls, “Neil?”

He opens the door to find Neil sat cross-legged on his bed, math textbooks open on his lap. Neil looks up at him, and he’s all cold blank expression, doesn’t even remove his textbooks. “Hi,” he says. He looks back down again, but his pencil is still.

Andrew closes the door behind him.

He feels awkward, the only place to sit in here is the bed. And he doesn’t want to tower over Neil. Doesn’t even know what he wants to say. He just – misses him. So, before he’s even moved from the door, he says, low and quiet, “I miss you.”

“Well, that’s useful isn’t it,” Neil says, not looking up. “That explains – no, wait, absolutely nothing.”

“You’re angry,” says Andrew. He doesn’t mean it like condescension, like he hadn’t expected it, but. He feels like he’s powered down. Like he can only work in short factual statements.

Neil does look up at him then. He doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t look like anything. But he says, “No shit.”

“Hmm.” Andrew runs a hand over his hair, tries to gather anything fucking anything at all. He moves and perches on the end of the bed. Wants to reach out. “What...” he falters. _Fuck_ why doesn’t anything work. When he looks up Neil’s expression has melted a little, into a small frown directed at Andrew. Andrew sighs and crosses his ankle over his knee. He says, “I’m sorry.”

He hates blanket statements.

So does Neil, apparently.

Neil closes his textbook, then. “Right. That’s great, Andrew. Do you even know what you’re saying sorry for?”

There’s a retort on Andrew’s tongue, and he practically bites his gum in an attempt to keep his mouth shut. He says nothing. He does know.

“Are you sorry for forgetting to invite me to your birthday? For inviting me and then spending the whole time ignoring me to talk to Kevin? For not telling me about it? For not telling me that you’ve never had a good birthday? You know you could have just told me that, right? That I would have left it alone?” Neil leaves no room for pause, like he’s been stewing for days. “That you could have told Nicky there was no way Kevin was going – but you didn’t? That you let Katelyn go –” Neil shoves his books off his lap, anger all over his face, hair failing into his eyes, and Andrew’s heart skips a beat in the effort not to reach out, to soothe Neil, to do – anything – “This is the thing, Andrew. You let Kevin go. You let Katelyn – who I know you can’t stand – go. If you knew Aaron had invited his girlfriend why didn’t you invite me?”

Andrew says, “You know why.”

Neil looks frustrated. He says, “I do now, Andrew, but you don’t tell me anything. I know now you hate your birthday but I still don’t know why. On our first date you told me you used to self-harm. But you only told me because you knew I’d see the scars eventually. You’ve never told me anything about your childhood, except that you were in foster care until you were 15. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know anything about you.”

Andrew’s hands are pale, where they’re resting in his lap. He draws his legs onto the bed so he can cross them beneath him, so he can fit his fingers together. He’s wearing a black sweater. Tugs at the ends of his sleeves so they cover his armbands. For a moment he imagines that he’s in Bee’s office, that he’s taken several breaths, that he has a hot chocolate. Thinks that maybe if he’d told Neil Bee always made him hot chocolate, that maybe Neil would make him one. Probably not.

Andrew says, “That’s not true.”

It’s been so long, Neil just says, “What?”

Andrew is staring at Neil’s duvet – navy blue, plain. Dull. Soft. “You know me.” Andrew doesn’t want to say it. He lowers his voice even more. “Top hats. And sunsets.”

Neil is quiet, but eventually he just says, “That’s not helpful.”

Andrew wants to bury his head in his hands, so he makes himself sit up, looks Neil in the eye. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you it was my birthday. I’m sorry I ignored you.”

“Ok,” Neil says. He scratches his hands over his elbows, eyebrows furrowed. “This is frustrating. Do you really not get it?”

Andrew wants to say _what do you want from me._

Neil sighs. “I can’t be Kevin, Andrew.”

Andrew lifts his head. Feels clear suddenly, not because he understands, but because he doesn’t. This is something he can scratch at. “What?”

“I can’t – I know you want me to –” Neil gathers his knees to his chest, looks away, holds them, like he’s ten years old. “I know you two are really close –”

“And you know that how?”

“He’s practically your family. Nicky is already really close to him. You guys hang out every week.”

“So do we.”

“I’m never going to – I’m never going to be able to give you what he did.” Neil isn’t looking at him.

Everything stops. Time. Andrew’s breath. All the effort Andrew’s been putting into giving Neil the ground here, into listening, into analysing, into trying not to fuck this up, flies out the window. He feels sick. He stands abruptly. His heart is beating fast, and, he says, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Neil looks at him then, confused, like he hadn’t noticed him getting up, like he hadn’t thought this point would be contentious. “You um. Andrew. You know what it means.”

“Sex.”

“Right.” Neil rubs a hand over his head, embarrassed, like he often is when they go there.

“Except you did.”

Neil frowns at him. Stands up. Hugs his arms over his chest in his stupid oversized hoody. “Well. We – we gave that to each other, Andrew.” His voice is quiet, vulnerable.

Andrew wants to break it in two.

“Why?”

“Um.”

“Why did you want it then? Nothing, this whole time, and then suddenly –”

“Nothing?” Neil looks hurt, and Andrew wants to backtrack, to correct himself, but Neil looks close to tears now and he can’t bring himself to speak. Neil grits his teeth. “I don’t know Andrew, it was your fucking birthday alright? I just thought –”

“Got it.” Andrew speaks to cut Neil off, because he doesn’t want to hear anymore. Can’t hear anymore. He can’t. Just in case, he says, “Are you kidding?” Neil doesn’t say anything. Andrew clenches his fists, and Neil takes a step back, and a tear falls from his eye, and Andrew immediately moves closer to the door, knows he has to leave. “When did I ever make you think that’s what I wanted?” he says, close to breaking, he just has to leave, he has to leave.

“But,” Neil sounds confused, hurt, “you did want it though.”

Of course he did. Of _course_ he did. Not of course, but – Neil knows Andrew’s preferences. Respects them, like Andrew respects Neil’s. It’s about choice. It’s about – Andrew tries to remember the last time they even talked about this. Weeks ago. At the beginning, maybe. _I will never make you do anything you don’t want to do_ , and _you will tell me if it changes_. Why hadn’t they spoken about it since then? Quips about Andrew masturbating in the shower. Quips he participated in because he needed Neil to know, to understand the system. What Andrew was happy to do to be a part of this. Of course he wanted it. But he didn’t _need_ it with Neil, for the first time ever was in a position where he wanted it but didn’t need it, for the first time had been in a comfortable equilibrium in his body, except for the shame which had been threatening to break through, which positively tears through his skin now, because Neil knows, of course he does, Neil knows everything, knows that Andrew wants things he isn’t allowed, things he doesn’t deserve, that he’s just as bad as – “Fuck you,” Andrew spits, the end of his thoughts exploding into the words.

The door opens behind him, and Allison is there, her ball-slicing machine probably not far behind, and she takes one look at Andrew, and Neil, and says, “Neil, honey?” When Neil just shakes his head she points at Andrew, and then the door. “Get out.”

“Or what?” Andrew snaps at her. But it’s all bite. He strides to the front door, and slams it behind him.

He spends the week alone, and miserable.

The fury faded inevitably: quickly, leaving a trail of regret behind.

He hates feeling.

In his session with Bee he tells her that, sits on her stupid sofa with his knees drawn to his chest, forehead resting on top, like he used to do when he didn’t want to deal with the things she was saying. He tells her he feels awful. “Make it go away,” he mumbles into his knees.

Bee hums. Is gentle when she says, “You know that’s not how this works, Andrew,” kind, unbearably kind, says, “Tell me why you feel awful.”

When he gets home he has a message from Matt, who has only ever talked to him in group chats, in Neil’s apartment. They don’t really know each other. It says

_he won’t tell us what you’ve done, and I know I’m probably supposed to hate you  
but I dunno man, I just thought I’d say – I don’t know how many people you have to talk to about this  
and I know you know him pretty well, but so do I  
so, I’m here if you need to talk man  
that’s all really_

Andrew stares at his phone, bewildered. Pockets it, shaking his head.

He cancels family dinner that week. He cancels his study session, skips his lectures. There’s plenty of work he can do from home. Some of which he does. He watches _Benjamin_ three times. Sticks _Love Simon_ in the DVD player and can’t bring himself to hit play. Lifts weights on his bedroom floor. Tries to teach King to fetch him particular socks from his position under the covers.

He hates himself. Can’t bring himself to try not to.

Kevin calls at the end of the week. Andrew is miserable, but he’s also bored, so he grabs it off the coffee table, rests it on his cheek. “What do you want,” Andrew says. “I’m watching exy.”

“Liar,” Kevin says.

Andrew says nothing, turns the sound off. The commentators always irritate him anyway.

“What do you want.”

“Have you fixed it?”

“Fixed what, Kevin?”

“Whatever happened with Neil.”

“Ah, that. No.” Andrew picks an orange sock off the floor and chucks it to the other side of the room. Hears King meow from somewhere.

“He called me.”

“Great.”

“Don’t you want to know what he said?”

Andrew does. But he thinks Kevin will just tell him if he says nothing.

“He wanted to know – well.”

“Come on, don’t get shy on me.”

“Wanted to know what you were like after we had sex.” Kevin pauses. “Directly after.”

Andrew says nothing, but his heart beats firmly in his chest. He just waits.

“I told him. I hope that’s ok.”

“And what am I like, Kevin?” Andrew is sitting up now, something cold settling over him. “What did the two of you discuss, hmm? How I won’t talk afterwards? How I leave straight after? How disgusted – how I want nothing, expect nothing, how _fucked up_ it all is?”

“Yes,” Kevin says, calm. “I told him that.”

Andrew hangs up. And throws his phone across the room.

It’s a couple of days after that when Neil messages him. The first time in a week and a half.

It’s the middle of November. Andrew misses him. Had been thinking if there were ever a time to have Neil around it would be when the world is being unbearable about Christmas.

Bee had suggested messaging him to say that.

Andrew hadn’t. He doesn’t think he deserves that much. Isn’t in the business of wanting things he doesn’t deserve, can’t have.

Told Bee that, too.

She’d just looked down at her notes, sad, and knowing.

Neil’s message comes at 10pm. It’s Tuesday. Andrew’s just turned the tv on, just settled on the sofa, settling in for a restless few hours. His phone has survived the frustrated hurl across the room. He’d had to throw the cracked case away, but. That’s what cases are for.

The message just says

_hey_

Andrew looks at it, frowns, double checks it really is from Neil. He gathers his legs into the sofa, sinks against the arm. Contemplates.

_**hi**_

_how um  
how are you_

_**peachy**_

_yeah_

**_how about you  
out raving?_ **

_you know me_

**_exactly_ **

_um  
I was wondering_

**_yes?_**

_I thought maybe  
do you want to hear a joke?_

There’s an exy game on ESPN, something from a few years ago when the national team beat Japan 11-10. Andrew’s seen it before. He wonders if Neil is watching it. Re-reads his last message five times.

**_ok_** , he types, pulling his purple blanket closer.

_ok, so_

While Neil types Andrew holds his phone to his chest, lets his eyes rest on the screen, doesn’t really take it in. After a while his phone buzzes and he holds it up.

_an exy coach walks into the locker room before a game, looks over to his starting striker and says, "I'm not supposed to let you play since you failed math, but we need you in there. so what I have to do is ask you a math question, and if you get it right, you can play.” the player agrees, and the coach looks into his eyes intently and asks, “okay, now concentrate... what is two plus two?” the player thinks for a moment and then he answers, “4?” the coach shouts in his face, “did you say 4?!?” excited that he got it right. at that, all the other players on the team scream, “come on coach, give him another chance!”_

Ok. Maybe Andrew smiles. A little.

**_how on earth did you find an exy joke, in this economy_**

 **** _ok so it was originally about football  
I improved it_

_**I see**_

**** _do you get it_

_**yes, neil**_

**** _it’s funny because jocks suck at math_

_**I get it  
ha**_

**** _:)_

Andrew lets out a breath. Types and sends before he can think too hard about it. Lets instinct take over for once.

**_do you want to come over?_**

 **** _is that ok?_

_**yes**_

**** _I want my green blanket back_

Andrew feels _nothingness_ creeping in, for all of two seconds, but then

_not like  
shit  
sorry  
that sounded like  
I was joking  
look I’m leaving now I’ll see you soon_

**_ok  
asshole_ **

**** _haha  
ok_

Andrew doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything to get ready. After a few minutes he does get up to open his door, leaves it open a crack, grabs two glasses of water and returns to the sofa. It doesn’t occur to him to change the channel.

So when Neil knocks on the door, presumably opens it when it swings a little, and sees Andrew watching exy, he just says, “I _knew it._ ”

“Calm down,” Andrew mutters, not looking away from the screen. He hears Neil toe out of his shoes, shut the door, move round and then he’s there, claiming his end of the sofa, grabbing his blanket and wrapping it over his knees. Andrew wants to touch him.

Neil stares at the screen, then back at Andrew. A tentative smile crawls onto his face. “Junkie,” he says, all smug.

Andrew frowns at him. “I am not a junkie. It was just on.”

“It was just on. Your tv just happened to be on ESPN?”

“Yes,” says Andrew, looking away.

“From all that time you spend watching... what?”

“Baseball has many layers.”

He says it because Neil hates baseball. Neil knows, and smiles at him, and leans back.

For a while they don’t talk about anything much; they watch the game together, Andrew nudges one of the glasses of water towards Neil, and Neil takes it, and Neil makes Andrew talk about exy. Subtly. With stuff like, “Wow that save was really good,” forcing Andrew to correct him, to let him know it was, in fact, not good, but lucky.

It’s half-time when Andrew mutes the tv again, looks down at the glass in his hand. Wishes he had something stronger.

“So, um,” Neil starts. “I sort of wanted to talk about some stuff.”

Andrew deflates. He just feels his whole body deflate. Like every limb had been tense and now everywhere sinks down, crushing. Weightless. He says, “Ok.”

“Um. Andrew, will you look at me?”

He’s not sure he can. Not if Neil’s going to do what he thinks he’s going to do. What he should do. Maybe he’ll want to stay friends. Maybe that’s what the joke and the exy is about. Maybe it’s why Andrew let him see that he watches exy sometimes. Maybe he can be like Matt. Maybe they can all be sports friends. He winces at the thought.

But he tries. He sits up, looks directly at Neil, and then somewhere over his shoulder. Bee’s voice saying _communicate_ rings in his ears, so he says, “It’s hard to look at you.”

Neil is clearly surprised by the confession, or probably just by the fact of a confession at all, and his eyebrow raise, but he also nods, arranges himself cross-legged, facing Andrew, just says, “Ok. That’s ok. I just wanted to see your face. I just wanted – so, I talked to Matt.”

Andrew huffs. “I know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I know. I mean the one who got away messaged me.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “He’s not the – wait, what did he say?”

“Oh, you know, that he’s on my side, that you’re an asshole, that he’ll gladly leave your service to enter into mine, et cetera.” When Neil waits, Andrew looks down at his water. “Matt is weird.” 

“Ah. Was he asking if you were ok?” Andrew shrugs, and Neil is smiling. “Yeah. He’s kinda like that. Asshole.”

“Mm.”

“Um. So, like, yeah, I talked to him. Matt is helpful, you know? He kind of knows when I’m talking bullshit.”

“Unlike me, you mean.”

“Yes.” Neil sounds so certain, the word unfamiliar in his mouth, like adopting Andrew’s penchant for _yes_ over _yeah_ is some sort of attempt to get his attention. It almost works. Andrew finds he can almost meet his eyes. “I think I said some things that I didn’t mean, or, I did, but I didn’t mean you to take them the way you did.”

“Ok,” says Andrew. He doesn’t know how to make this easier, so he doesn’t try.

Neil takes a deep breath. Andrew wants to push the hair out of his forehead. Neil does it himself, but it’s clumsy, and it falls back. Andrew lets his eyes rest in his hair. “I think,” he says, slowly, and softly, “that you think that we only had sex because it was your birthday, and I was giving it to you. I think... I mean, I think that’s what I might have said. Which is so obviously bullshit and if we hadn’t already been...” Neil stops again, and takes another breath, and slows down his words again. “I know promises mean a lot to you, so I’m going to say this. I promised not to give you anything for your birthday. And I promised to let you know if I ever wanted anything more, physically. Right?” Andrew nods, lets his eyes follow a drift of hair curling up into nothingness. “So. Um. I didn’t think I wanted anything, Andrew. I mean, why am I telling you this. You know all this, it’s how we met. Shit.” Neil closes his eyes, like this is harder than he thought it was going to be. Andrew turns his body so that his knees hit the back of the sofa, and reaches his foot out, and pokes Neil’s toes through the blankets. Neil’s eyes open, and he smiles at Andrew. Tired, uncertain. But smiling. Andrew looks away again. Finds the wisp of hair. “Matt says it was dumb to say we did, um, that, because it was your birthday. It wasn’t just – I mean, ok look. Maybe we’re stupid for never talking about this. Sometimes I feel... stuff. Around you.”

Andrew looks at him. Neil is a little pinker than usual. Looks at him steady though, like this is important. So Andrew finds his voice. Finds it, and all he manages to say is, “Stuff.”

“Yeah.” Neil’s toes poke Andrew’s. “I don’t know what it’s like for you, or anyone else. But um. Before you I didn’t want to do anything with anyone. I didn’t get it. I know you know this. But like, I didn’t think I’d want that with you either. All I knew is that I love, um, kissing you.” He speeds up, like this is the embarrassing bit. Andrew brightens a fraction. “Which I hadn’t before. And I love, just touching, you know? Not like – that. But like, just touching you, and having you touching me, is pretty amazing. I feel really like, close to you. Like I never have with anyone else. It’s... it’s really good, and. I don’t know. But I thought that was it. The couple of times we’ve um, that I’ve – um, you know...” He trails off.

Andrew curls his toes over the top of Neil’s. “Got me off,” he supplies, feeling more like being helpful now.

“Yes, that,” Neil says, smirking, “it was because I wanted to. I wanted to, because I wanted to see what it was like, but also because I wanted to see what _you_ were like. Like that. I wanted it. And it made me think. And sometimes I... look, sometimes my body wants more, ok? With you. Sometimes.” Neil looks incredibly embarrassed. Barrels on. “Sometimes – I don’t know. Sometimes my body wants it. Sometimes I just want it, even when nothing’s... happening. You know? I don’t know. And I couldn’t tell you any of this because I just feel so like, broken, it’s just – I don’t know why you’d want any of this.”

His tone has become frustrated, and he’s folded his arms and is looking away, and Andrew knows there’s probably still a lot to cover, he knows this, but he doesn’t care right now. He reaches out a hand. “Neil,” he says, firmly. Neil meets his eyes. “You are not broken. Not to me.” He keeps Neil’s eyes, feeling murderous for anyone or anything that makes Neil feel that way. “Ok?”

Neil nods, but he also shrugs, and looks away. “It’s hard.”

“I know,” Andrew says. Neil still looks sad, unsure. Cute. God he wants to kiss him.

“Ok, so, there’s, um, that. That I might be... well, Matt says I’m still probably asexual. Or demisexual, maybe. I don’t know. I kind of hate putting words to it –”

“Labels only matter if you need a succinct way to communicate,” says Andrew, fast and hard, not sure where the words are coming from, “but we don’t need that. You can say it however you want to me. I will always listen. And it can change if it needs to. I want to know everything.”

Neill meets his eyes again. Nods again. Breathes out. “Ok, Andrew.”

Their feet slot next to each other. Andrew wishes the socks were gone, the blankets, wants to feel the rough skin of Neil’s feet.

“Um. So. That day. On your – Friday. I was... jealous of Kevin.”

Andrew scoffs. But at Neil’s unimpressed look he says, “Ok. Fine. I could have thought more about whether having my ex around would make you jealous. I had assumed you would be able to tell me. I will not be making any more assumptions about your basic abilities.”

Neil rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking when he looks away. “I’ll take it,” he says. “And by the way you really were an asshole.”

Andrew thinks about it. About the way they’d had sex for the first time – Neil’s first time, ever – and how he’d just shut down. He doesn’t know if he can apologise, if he needs to, or if Neil just gets it. Bee says it isn’t his fault. He feels like it is. He’s not sure he can talk about this yet.

“But... I’m sorry, but, um, I talked to Kevin.”

“I know.”

“Oh my god.” Neil lets his head hit the sofa. “Is nothing sacred?”

“Nope.”

“God. Fine. Ok, so you know. I don’t know if you want to talk about that...”

“I don’t.”

“Ok. That’s ok. I want... I know you think some things are impossible to communicate. But, you know I want to listen if you ever want to try.” Andrew lets this sink in, wonders for this first time if maybe he could tell Neil everything. He nods. Neil watches him, and then carries on. “Fuck. Why is this so hard?”

“Communication is stupid.”

“I thought it was impossible.”

“That too.” Andrew lets his toes play with Neil’s.

But Neil is rearranging himself a little, straightening, putting his hands in his lap. Andrew stills. “Fine. I’m doing this your way. I know you like... facts. Truths. Statements. Things you can rely on.” Andrew feels hot. Uncertain. Known. How does he – “So, listen. We had sex. For a thousand reasons. Some of them were not so good. I was jealous of Kevin. I wanted to be more like him. I wanted to be something you wanted. It was your birthday. You said you’d never had a good birthday. I wanted you to have a good birthday. Maybe those are not so good. But some of them are so good, Andrew. I _wanted_ to. We had sex because I wanted to. Of course I did. I want all of you. I would not have done that – I would not have just _let_ you – if I didn’t want it. And, I think I wanted it because I love you.”

Andrew stares at him. And says nothing. And stares. And stares. He lets his eyes move to find that wisp of hair but then Neil is crawling forward, into his space, not touching, but crowding his vision.

He shifts backwards, lets Neil catch his hand as he takes his legs off the sofa, sits upright, turns away. Stares the tv. Is surprised to see the match is still on.

“Andrew?”

Andrew can’t make his brain work. Neil always has been an idiot. It’s what was so appealing about him. But right now it’s making everything feel hazy, uncertain. Andrew says, monotonously, sounding bored to even his own ears, “You can’t just say something like that.” Andrew wants his hand back. Neil is holding on.

“Can.” He sounds petulant, like this is something he already believes, something he’s figured out without Andrew, something he’s unwilling to let go of without a fight. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t understand anything, Andrew, like the way I grew up means I don’t really get everything that everyone else does. Not straight away. But I understand you, and this thing between us, I understand it now, and I love you and I want to be with you and I’m sorry if you find that fucking scary, but I don’t.”

Andrew is silent for a long time. Neil is still holding his hand, still kneeling on the sofa, close to Andrew, Andrew staring at the tv. 10-10. National team must be about to score.

The thought just expresses itself out loud. “I have no idea what you think that means.” Andrew does take his hand back now.

“So ask me,” Neil starts to say.

But Andrew is standing, and says, “Have you eaten?”

“Andrew –”

“Just – just be quiet. Just, I can’t ok – just be quiet.” Andrew realises he’s in the kitchen, so he opens the freezer, takes out the ice cream, opens it. Just the bottom left. Perfect. He grabs a spoon, and leans against the counter, and he doesn’t even dig in, he just breathes. Deep, and unsatisfying.

Neil appears, stands opposite him, arms folded. “What am I being quiet for? Are we waiting for something in particular?” Andrew shakes his head though, so Neil just says, “Ok.” Sounds a little deflated.

Andrew wants to shut down. Knows his body wants it. Can feel spiteful words rise up, anything that would make Neil leave him. It would be so easy to do, too. Neil is a sensitive asshole and Andrew could so easily –

But when he looks up Neil is just standing there. Looking at him. Looking a little tired, maybe, but just waiting. Patient. Like he understands Andrew is processing.

Andrew knows he can be unfeeling, distant, cold, knows it’s an important part of him that keeps irritations away. But in that minute he decides he doesn’t want to be, not here, not to Neil.

So instead of shutting down, shutting out, he bites out, “I don’t understand.” But that’s not right. “How can you –” He puts the ice cream down. He’s not eating it anyway. He rubs his hand across his forehead, over and over again, leaves it there. Stares at the floor. It hurts to think, hurts to feel. He thinks about Neil, the last two times they were together. “I hurt you.”

“I know,” says Neil, taking a few steps forward until Andrew can see his socked feet. Light blue. Almost grey. “And it wasn’t ok. But I know you know that, and I know you’re sorry. And I know it wasn’t really about me. Right?”

Andrew nods, because it’s true, and he’s too damn tired for filters. “Neil. I think I need – can we not talk anymore.” Neil waits for clarification, so Andrew sighs, lowers his hand, straightens and takes both of Neil’s hands. “God, you’re just – you’re just a lot.” He looks up to see uncertainty on Neil’s face. He adds, softer, “Sometimes you’re so much I’m not entirely sure how you fit in that tiny body of yours.” He drops his hands and touches fingers to Neil’s waist, tentative, and Neil smiles, and it turns into a grin, the widest smile Andrew has seen all evening, the best thing he’s seen in weeks.

Neil says, “I’m bigger than you.”

“You are only three inches taller, as I keep reminding you. And I lift more.” He wraps his hands around Neil’s waist as if to say _See? Tiny._

Neil smirks. “That’s true,” he mutters, contemplative, watching Andrew’s mouth now, fingers running goosebumps over his arms, even through his shirt. “So, you’re tired.”

“You’re exhausting,” Andrew agrees, tightening his hands around Neil, feeling everything beneath his fingertips.

“Am I going home?”

Andrew feels dried out, left too long in sunlight. Neil is too much and he’s still not sure whether he can contain him. Whether someone like him can manage someone who is just so much.

But he wants to.

“I really want to kiss you.” He doesn’t know where the words come from, flawed and open and vulnerable, but before he can take them back Neil wraps his arms around Andrew’s back, and pulls him in.

Andrew lifts his hands, automatic, threads them into Neil’s hair. Kisses him like it’s not been weeks, but months, years. Kisses him like he hates him, like he loves the way he tastes, like he’s cataloguing this moment in case he can never have it again. Neil pulls away, breathless, pants into his mouth, “Andrew, it’s ok. I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”

Andrew shakes his head. “No. God. Neil,” and he scrabbles forward and kisses him again.

They make it to the bed, somehow, and Andrew says, between kisses, “I thought maybe I hadn’t asked,”

and Neil says, “You did, you did Andrew, I wanted it. You asked, and I said yes.”

And, later, Neil says, “I don’t know if I’ll want that again. When I’ll want that again,”

and Andrew says, “I don’t care,” and cups Neil’s face in his hands, and kisses him.

At some point desperate kissing turns into lazy kissing, turns into Andrew keeping Neil close enough that their lips graze when they breathe, so that he just reforms the shape of his mouth and Neil is being kissed, so he can lick his bottom lip, so he can take it between his.

It’s late, probably.

Neil’s arms are tight round Andrew’s back, Andrew’s around Neil’s shoulders, one in his hair. He’s never moving again. Neil says, “I didn’t see the score.”

“Stop it.”

“Did you?”

“I’m not doing this with you.”

“Damn, I really wanted to know what happened. That goalie seemed to know her stuff.”

“She –” Andrew stops. Glares at Neil. Bites him lightly on the cheek. Neil laughs.

They get up, eventually. Andrew has to feed King, has to throw his ruined ice cream away – Neil joins him in the living room, where he’s turning off the tv and finding Andrew’s notepad and adding, under Andrew’s hastily scrawled _Relationship goals_ and _Merlin_ , _IOU melty ice cream._

“You owe me non-melted ice cream,” Andrew says.

“But you prefer ice cream when it’s a bit melted anyway,” Neil scoffs, turning away. “You always leave it for a while so it starts melting.” Andrew frowns at his back, and follows him.

Neil lets Andrew not talk again, and Andrew lets Neil pull him onto his chest, and they just sleep. In his dreams, Andrew curls around Neil and doesn’t let him go.

It’s Nicky’s last thanksgiving in Palmetto. They’re graduating this year, and he’s moving to Germany to live with Erik, to start his life. Aaron and Katelyn are still applying to med schools – the same ones, and it’s not a topic to be brought up lightly, unless you want Katelyn’s big sad cheerleading eyes and Aaron’s stressed glare. Kevin will be jet setting off to some career in exy, probably. He’s already promised Andrew two tickets to his first game. Andrew doesn’t know what he’s doing yet. Isn’t used to looking past the end of the week. He’ll have a degree in criminology. Neil will have a year left of studies. For the first time he thinks standing still might not be so bad. Until Neil graduates at least.

Neil is having a friends thanksgiving. He and Allison do it every year, apparently. This year it will be them, and Dan and Renee, and Matt too, and Andrew knows how ‘hyped’ Matt is from the increasing number of messages he’s been receiving about it.

They’re in Neil’s bed one night, Neil scribbling some very last-minute math problems, Andrew with his glasses on and book in one hand, his phone buzzing against his back where he’d buried it, annoyed.

“Who keeps messaging you?” Neil says without pausing in his intense scribblings. He crosses something out. Turns his pencil over and erases.

“Your boyfriend,” Andrew says without looking up from his book. It’s getting very good.

He can hear the smile in Neil’s voice. “It’s cute. That you two are friends now.”

“We are not _friends_ ,” Andrew says. “He is too tall to be friends with.”

“Huh, I thought you liked that,” Neil mutters.

“What made you think that,” Andrew says with a wry look at Neil.

“Um, Kevin?” he says, but there’s no real pain behind the words. “And when you first met Matt you said he was good looking.”

“I said _conventionally_ good looking,” Andrew mutters, remembering everything. “It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Oh, you like them unconventional do you?” Neil says to his notebook, lip lifting in a smile.

Andrew sighs. “I just like you. Scientists will have to conduct studies into it. Your messy bedhead hair is annoying. Your eyes are too blue. Your waist is unreal. No one will be able to figure it out.” Andrew returns to his book, and Neil shifts a little closer.

After a while of pleasant silence, Neil says, “I like your hair too,” and Andrew huffs out a laugh.

They plan Christmas. Andrew has never planned Christmas in his life, he’s always just done what’s been laid out for him. Neil says, “And if it was up to you?”

“Nicky’s leaving soon,” Andrew says, intending the comment to sound distant, unrelated.

Neil hums, rubs his palm. “Renee is going to her mom’s, and I know Allison wants to go with her. I think she’s been waiting to see what I’m doing. Matt and Dan will be in New York, Matt wants her to meet his family. What if – what if you and me spent Christmas together? Maybe – maybe with Nicky? And Aaron?”

“Hmm.” Andrew kisses him stupid.

Nicky wants Andrew to throw a Christmas party.

**Nicky:** come on Andrew you have the best apartment! and you never host parties, it’s criminal

 **Andrew:** I have the smallest apartment

 **Nicky:** and NO HOUSEMATES. why did you leave me and aaron all alone to live in campus housing??

 **Andrew:** no self-respect

 **Aaron:** might be kind of cool

 **Andrew:** definitely no then

 **Kevin:** what are we talking about

But Neil sees the messages on Andrew’s phone, chin hooked over his shoulder on a break from cooking something delicious, and says, “Party? I could invite my friends too?”

Andrew sighs, pained.

They throw a party.

Andrew’s right, his apartment is too small, but there aren’t many of them. His family. A couple of Kevin’s teammates tagged along. A couple of cheerleaders. Nicky and Aaron’s dormmates. Neil’s lot.

Andrew is by the counter, ostensibly making drinks. Occasionally he makes a new batch of cocktail, pours it into glasses and rinses the jug. Waits for the drinks to be taken then does it again. Matt comes up to him, grinning. “You on barman duty?”

Andrew flicks a look up at him. “No,” he says, drily, sticking a cocktail umbrella into something that is too orange. Matt laughs.

“You looking forward to Christmas?” Matt asks, picking up the drink and sniffing it experimentally.

Andrew steps up on the rung of his barstool and hops up onto the counter, picking up his whisky. He folds his legs under him. At least now he and Matt are almost eye level. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, you have everything you ever wanted, right?” Matt says, a teasing grin on his face.

Andrew glares at him. “Christmas is a construct.”

“Like birthdays, huh?”

Andrew looks down into his whisky. “Damn,” he says. “I forgot Neil told you everything.” He drains the end in one go, then holds it out to Matt, who takes it with a chuckle.

“Not everything, I’m sure,” Matt says.

Andrew waits for his whisky, looks round at his apartment. Nicky and Allison are arguing over the music, but they’re obviously enjoying themselves. Renee and Katelyn are in one corner with Aaron and another cheerleader, laughing over something. Dan is having a heated discussion with Kevin about exy, which, considering Neil told Andrew Dan knows nothing about exy, and from the look of amusement on her face, means she is probably making up everything she is saying.

He can’t see Neil.

“Looking for your boyfriend?” asks Matt, handing Andrew his tumbler.

“Looking for yours,” Andrew mutters petulantly, nodding in thanks.

Matt leans against the opposite counter, assessing him. “I think you’re alright, man.”

Andrew raises his eyebrows. “You know, coming from you, I think that actually might be supposed to be an insult.”

Matt laughs, but there’s a gleam to his eyes that Andrew isn’t sure he likes. He sets his drinks down. “Well. I wasn’t sure, to be honest.”

“Nice.”

“Nah I mean – I think you’re great, honestly. You’re funny, you obviously really care about people.” _Funny?_ “I guess I just wasn’t sure whether you’d be good for him. We all care about him so much.”

“I know,” says Andrew, wary. Wanting to know when Neil’s coming back from wherever he’s escaped to.

“But I think it’s really obvious now how good you are. For each other.” And then Matt smiles, playful. “I know he really cares about you.”

Andrew narrows his eyes at him. A light formality to his voice when he says, “What are you doing, Matt?”

Matt shrugs. “Nothing. But, you know, if there’s anything you ever want to talk about – I’m here, right?”

“I _know_ ,” says Andrew, swirling the contents of his tumbler. “You have told me. Several times.”

Matt grins. “Ok.”

The door to Andrew’s bedroom opens and Neil comes out. Andrew reaches out a hand and Neil moves to him, leaning sideways against the counter by Andrew, smiling at Matt. And Andrew is content there for a while. A few people join Neil and Matt’s conversation, everyone moving around the noisy apartment, like they’re having fun. Andrew stays quiet, one arm around Neil’s waist, one leg dangling off the counter pressed close to the back of Neil’s legs, a clear signal he isn’t going anywhere. Sometimes Matt will absently top his drink up, but he switched to tonic water a few drinks ago. Neil still only has one drink at the most, more often will drink nothing, and Andrew doesn’t usually like getting drunk around him. Neil says he doesn’t care, but sometimes will get a new bottle of tonic out the fridge, eyes lighting up when he realises he has someone he can offer it to. Andrew takes his with a slice of lime, two ice cubes.

Allison declares, at one point, “We’re betting on you, Minyard.” Across the room Andrew sees Aaron look up briefly before returning to his conversation with Dan and Renee.

Andrew lifts an eyebrow. “Exciting.”

Neil has gone all quiet and fidgety. “Ali,” he says.

“What? It’s just a little betting.” She’s clearly drunk, and Renee is all the way across the room, and Matt just looks amused.

“I don’t want to know,” says Andrew.

“Good,” declares Allison, almost successfully touching her finger to her nose. “The bettee doesn’t get to hear the betting.”

Andrew says, “Maybe I’m betting on you,” hand tightening around Neil. Neil leans a little more into him.

Allison laughs, gleeful. And then says, seriously, “It’s about Renee isn’t it. You’re betting I’m going to fuck things up with her mom. Oh god. Mystery man I am so _fucked._ Do you know how many parents I’ve met?” She runs one hand over her face.

“Is it none?” Andrew says quietly.

“It’s none,” Neil says.

Matt claps one hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you’ll be great. Renee loves you, so I’m sure Stephanie will.”

“Does it work like that?” Allison drains some of her wine, looks thoughtful. “Does that mean we have to love Andrew?”

Neil straightens, so Matt does too, tightens the hand on Allison’s shoulder. “Hey, this is my favourite song,” he says over the sounds of dreadful non-specific Europop, “let’s dance!” He winks at Neil, directing Allison towards a very welcome group, Nicky throwing his arms in the air in excitement.

Neil darts a look at Andrew. But all Andrew feels is – well. Something like happiness. He turns Neil in his arms, and kisses him.

The party is winding down, and they’re sat in the living room, Neil in Andrew’s lap, Nicky going to sleep on the floor. Aaron is doing up his jacket, waiting for their taxi, Katelyn giggling and leaning on a friend in the kitchen.

“You better take that home before it expires,” Andrew says, pointing at Nicky.

“I will,” says Aaron. He looks at Neil. “I’ll see you both on Tuesday then?”

Andrew feels too much, for a second. They’re going to their house in Columbia. On Tuesday. Because it’s Christmas eve. He tightens his fingers where they’re holding Neil’s hand, so Neil nods, and says, “Yeah. See you then. We’ll bring dessert.”

The doorbell rings, and Aaron gets Kevin to pull Nicky off the floor, to drape him round Aaron’s shoulder, and Nicky yells, “MERRY CHRISTMAS ASSHOLES,” on their way out.

The apartment is much quieter after that. It’s just Neil’s lot, and Kevin.

At one point Neil leaves Andrew’s lap to join Kevin in the kitchen, and Andrew is drawn into a quiet, easy conversation about movies. He joins in occasionally, tries not to watch his people in the kitchen, looks away when he realises Neil is leaning up for a hug. He feels – he doesn’t know.

Kevin is leaving, and Andrew stands, shakes his hand. “See you on Tuesday,” Andrew says.

Kevin smiles, and nods, all serious. He clears his throat. “Sounds good. Neil says your house has ESPN?”

Andrew shoves him out the door.

And, when Neil’s friends are finally leaving, and Andrew is in the kitchen washing up, Matt comes over to say goodbye while Renee helps Allison put her coat on and Dan giggles, draping herself over them both and by the looks of things not helping at all.

Andrew dries his hands on a towel and takes Matt’s offered hand. “Merry Christmas,” says Matt with a grin.

“Sure,” says Andrew, taking his hand back, feeling tight and weird and hating every second of it. “Thank you. You are – I can understand why you mean so much to him.” Matt beams and Andrew has to look away. Is sure he has a crick in his neck. “But that isn’t really what I do.”

Matt nods with understanding. “I know. But in case it ever is.”

“Ok,” says Andrew. And then, without being sure why he says it, “I have a PS4.”

Matt’s eyes light up. “Yeah? That’s awesome! We could play sometime?”

Andrew nods. “Ok.” And then there’s a crash when three girls bang into the wall, and Andrew looks up to see Dan and Allison laughing uncontrollably, holding each other, each holding onto one of Renee’s hands, and Renee looks at Matt imploringly, nothing but fondness on her face.

Matt grins. “Better take the cavalry home.”

Andrew points at Renee, “She’s driving, right?” and watches as Matt drops car keys into Renee’s hand.

Neil hugs each of them, and they all tell Neil that they love him, and Neil tells them back, and Andrew stands in the kitchen and finds things to wash up until it’s over.

When the door finally closes and Andrew turns round, Neil is smiling widely at him. Andrew rolls his eyes. “Come on,” he says, and tugs him to help clear up.

They take turns in the bathroom, and then curl around each other in bed, and this used to be Andrew’s least favourite time of day, when his breath evened out, and his thoughts crowded his mind, confrontational and loud and persistent. He hates it less now. Bee says some things you just learn to tolerate. He’s pressed up against Neil’s back, occasionally kissing his bare shoulder, one sleeve ridden up nicely, keeping Neil on the brink of wakefulness. He closes his eyes in the darkness, and lets one thought get pushed out. “What do you mean.”

Neil shifts a little, but he doesn’t turn his head. He says, “Which bit, Andrew?” Pulls one of Andrew’s hands off his stomach to kiss it.

“What do you think that word means.”

He’s trying. Sometimes he will still think it’s pointless, to even try. Still thinks true communication is impossible. Even if Neil tries to explain, even if Andrew thinks he understands, he may not, he would just never know if Neil and he were talking at cross purposes, forever. He’d just never know. And he finds that frustrating, awful. But he thinks he wants to try anyway. Thinks he’d do anything to keep this warm thing under the circle of his arms.

“Hmm.” Neil thinks about it. “You know, I asked Matt about it.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

“Hey, he’s my emotional support giant.”

“I’m not complaining, he’s done some ok things.” Andrew kisses Neil’s shoulder again, tightens his grip round his waist. “Go on,” he whispers, still as he’s ever been.

Neil says, “With us, to me, it means that I think you’re kind of amazing. That I want to be around you all the time. That I want to watch you be amazing, and I want to be there for you. That I want you to watch and be there for me. That I want this to be a thing, for as long as we both want it to be.”

Andrew doesn’t know how to breathe for a second. Buries his forehead into Neil’s neck. He tries to let the words sink in, but they’re just crowding against _I don’t get the things I want. I don’t deserve to want things_. He mutters weakly, “That what Matt said?”

“No,” Neil says, shaking his head and brushing his lips against Andrew’s knuckles. “Matt said Dan makes him happy and they click and he wants her children. And a lot of other really sappy stuff.” Andrew smiles into Neil’s neck. Neil says, “The stuff about me thinking you’re amazing. That’s just me.”

Andrew shakes his head. Neil feels it, and says, “Stop it. Are you trying to negate my reality?”

Andrew huffs. “You heard that from someone.”

Neil shrugs. “Ali.”

“I don’t want you seeing her again.”

Neil presses back against Andrew, like he’d rather be turning round but knows Andrew needs this distance. Just for another minute. They’re quiet for a while, when Neil says, “My mother never said she loved me. But I know she did. I know that’s why we ran. But she was...” He swallows. “It was different. It’s complicated.”

“I know.” Andrew uses the hand that’s not being held hostage to run up Neil’s tshirt, just a little, just so he can press his palm flat against Neil’s stomach. Neil sucks in a little breath.

Andrew thinks maybe he should do it now. While it’s dark. While they’re being honest. While they’re wrapped up in each other, and Neil can’t escape. “There are things I need to tell you.”

“I know,” says Neil, “but it won’t make any difference.”

“It might.”

“It won’t.”

The room is so quiet, window closed against the night and curtain open a little, moonlight spilling into the room, because _someone_ likes to let natural light wake them in the mornings.

Andrew says, “I don’t think I should get to keep you.”

Neil turns then, rolls onto his back so he can look at Andrew. “I’m sorry I said I felt like I didn’t know anything about you. It was a shitty thing to say. I know everything that matters. You don’t need to tell me anything. I feel like I can – I can guess, some of it. The foster homes. Your...” He stops when Andrew looks away. “Ok,” says Neil, touching a hand to Andrew’s cheek. Bringing him back. “I know why you think you have to tell me now. But you don’t. It won’t change a fucking thing.” He looks so sure. So sure.

Andrew settles his head onto Neil’s chest, and turns onto his back so he’s facing the ceiling, and Neil links their hands together, and Andrew tells him. Some of it. As brief as he can. He uses the words sexual assault and grits his teeth for _please_ and _misunderstanding_ and explains Aaron’s part in it. The lengthy trial. The years of sessions with Bee. It’s not that it hurts anymore, it’s more that it draws him into feeling nothing, and he wants to be here, in the present, with Neil, feeling his heart beat under his. Wants to feel intoxicated.

Neil is still, quiet. Nods. Replies when he needs to, his voice light and clinical. When Andrew runs out of words, and his eyes are closing, and he’s turned on his side Neil kisses his face, once, and they fall asleep.

And just like that, he knows.

In the morning, Andrew wakes up to an array of cereal boxes on his nightstand.

He blinks, bleary and confused. He doesn’t own this much cereal.

When he raises his head Neil is turned away from him, running shorts on and one of Andrew’s shirts, folding something and earphones in and bopping his head. He isn’t facing Andrew, so Andrew can look all he wants.

Neil finally turns and startles a little, pulling his earphones out. “You’re awake.”

“Your awful dancing woke me.”

Neil smirks. “You were watching me.”

Andrew shrugs. “You _woke_ me. I deserve nice things.”

“You do,” says Neil seriously, finishing tidying clothes and sliding back into bed. Andrew is still sleepy and wants to pull Neil down but Neil sits up against the headboard, patting the bed once before a pliant King hops up.

“Explain the cereal,” says Andrew with a sigh, admitting defeat and pulling up into a sitting position.

Neil shrugs. “You sleep a lot,” he says, as if that’s an explanation. “I went for a run, grabbed some stuff on the way back.”

Andrew yawns, and King pads over to him, curls up on his stomach. Andrew takes it for an excuse to shuffle down again, so he does, pleased when Neil shuffles under the covers with him. “Hi,” says Neil, kissing him.

“Gross,” says Andrew.

“Um, so,” says Neil, in that tone of his, and Andrew opens his eyes, and looks at him, and turns on his side so they’re facing each other, King shifting away, disgruntled. Neil looks determined. “Sex,” he says.

Andrew blinks, surprised. “Go on.”

Neil is so clearly trying to be serious, but amusement is shining through his too-bright eyes. “Sometimes I am going to want it, and you might not. You might feel all serious and sad and like you don’t deserve nice things, like you can’t trust me, or yourself, and afterwards you might feel like ignoring me and shutting me out and being mean to me for an entire week.” Andrew frowns, presses his fingers hard into Neil’s shoulder, and Neil grins. And then softens, and reaches to take Andrew’s hand. He shrugs. “I just wanted to acknowledge that. I think we’re going to be pretty messy.”

“It’s called fucked up.”

“Speak for yourself,” Neil says, pulling Andrew towards him. Andrew goes. Of course he does. “I just... want us to be able to talk about it. When it’s messy.”

Andrew nods. “Ok.” Breathes in, and out. Means it when he says, “I will try to talk to you if that happens.”

“Ok,” says Neil, kissing him lightly. And then enthusiastically. And then with a lick into Andrew’s mouth is leaning over him, pressing him down. He breathes, “I really like kissing you.”

And Andrew says, “Noted,” and shuts him up.

They don’t have sex. Andrew honestly doesn’t care if they never have it again. He spends the day listing in his head the things he’s here for: Neil climbing on a stool to stack the cereal boxes away; his ass as it shifts in those shorts; when he finds _Love Simon_ in the DVD player and presses play, without needing to ask; stealing Andrew’s blanket, and his cat, looking serious and intent as he does so; wrapping himself in Neil’s blanket, which smells of him; when Andrew comments offhand that he’s going to have a word with Allison about adding some asexual rep to her list of queer education, the look that Neil gives him; showering together for the first time, and only touching above the waist, and it feeling like the most natural thing in the world; going for a walk in the park because Neil likes trees and Andrew likes being mean about strangers; ordering their favourite take out and Neil letting Andrew swap their food when he decides he doesn’t like his; the sound of Neil’s laughter; the colour of his hair; the blue in his eyes; the scar on his face; his smile; his smile; his smile.

Andrew thinks about his list while they’re in bed, realises it’s been a while since he told Neil he had to go home. Thinks about Neil’s word. What he thinks it means.

Plays with them the of Neil’s tshirt as he listens to the sound of Neil’s breathing evening out.

Andrew lifts his head, lifts himself onto his elbow, so he can look down at Neil. Neil shifts round, so he can look back. Blinks his eyes open, like he was on the edge of sleep. When he sees Andrew properly, he smiles.

Andrew thinks, _Fuck it._

Neil grabs tiredly at Andrew’s shirt. “Kiss me.”

“I thought we were sleeping.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said you were tired and then started all, you know, up and looking at me.” Neil yawns. “I’m awake now. Kiss me.”

But Andrew just looks at him. Runs Neil’s words over and over in his head. Reaches out a hand and just touches him, gliding a finger from the tip of his forehead, over the delicate scar on his cheekbone, down to the line of his jaw. “Ok,” he says finally, shaky, unable to hide anything from Neil at this close distance.

Neil just looks at him, and Andrew wonders if he has to explain, but Neil is Neil, and smiles, and knows, because he’s Neil. So beautiful beneath him. “Ok?”

“Yes,” Andrew says. “If that’s what it means – ok. Obviously.” And he leans in, and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> god writing this was so tough! it was so slow for months, and then suddenly all got done in one weekend. if you follow me on twitter you'll know because i uh mentioned it a couple of times ;)  
> if you dont!! im djhedy or possibly dejahedy on twitter and tumblr come say hi  
> anyway  
> it's hard writing stuff like this - like dredging up certain emotions to put into this was tough - but it's all so worth it and if you enjoyed it i'd love to hear from you in any capacity :)  
> i love my tinder boys so much - this is the story ive been planning since i wrote "Can I kiss you?" i hope it was worth the wait. lots of love, hedy xxx


End file.
